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THE  CHALLONERS 


THIRD  EDITION 


OLIVE   LATHAM 
By  E.  L.  Voynich 

THE   ISSUE 

By  George  Morgan 
Illustrated.     S1.50 
AN   ANGEL   BY   BREVET 
By  Helen  Pitkin 

Frontispiece.     J1.50 
THE   NEVER-NEVER    LAND 
By  Wilson  Barrett 

POKETOWN   PEOPLE 

By  Ella  Middleton  Tybout 
Illustrated  in  colors.     $1.50 
HEART   OF   LYNN 

By  Mary  Stewart  Cutting 
Illustrated.     J1.25 
PIGS   IN   CLOVER 
By  Frank  Danby 
$1.50 
A  SEQUENCE   IN    HEARTS 
By  Mary  Moss 
gi.50 
KITTY  OF  THE   ROSES 
By  Ralph.  Henry  Barbour 

Illustrated  in  colors.     ^.00 
NEW   SAMARIA 

By  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  M.D. 
Illustrated.     S1.25 


THE  CHALLONERS 


by 
E.  F.  BENSON 

AUTHOR     or     "  DODO,"    ETC. 


'  O  world,  as  God  has  made  it !  all  is  beauty ; 
And  knowing  this,  is  love,  and  love  is  duty. 
What  further  may  be  sought  for  or  declared?" 

The  Guardian  Angel. — R.  Browning 


PHILADELPHIA     AND      LONDON 

J.     B.     LIPPINCOTT     COMPANY 

1904 

'^m  '^m  '^m 


Copyright,  1904 
By  J.  B.  LiPPiNCOTT   Company 


Published  July,  1904 


Eleclrotyped  and  Printed  by 
J.  B.  Ltppincott  Company,  Philadelphia,  U.  S.  A, 


THE  CHALLONERS 


CHAPTER    I 

The  hot  stress  of  a  real  midsummer  day  towards 
the  end  of  June  had  given  place  to  the  exquisite  tem- 
pered warmth  of  evening,  and  a  little  breeze  born  of 
the  hour  before  sunset,  and  made  fragrant  among  the 
glowing  flower-beds  of  the  vicarage  garden  just  ruf- 
fled the  hair  of  Helen  Challoner  as  she  half  sat,  half 
lay  in  a  long  deck-chair  at  the  edge  of  the  crocjuet- 
lawn,  reading  a  red-covered  book  with  the  absorbed 
s    intentness  which  she  devoted  to  any  occupation  that 

^ interested  her.     To  the  west  a  line  of  tall  box-hedge, 
of  that  smooth  and  compacted  growth  which  many 
years  alone  can  give,  screened  her  from  the  level  rays 
\    of  the  sun,  which  was  but  an  hour  above  the  horizon, 
"^   and  performed  the  almost  more  desirable  function  of 
'     screening  her  from  the  windows  of  the  house,  for  a 
^  cigarette  was  between  her  fingers,  and  the  juxtaposi- 
^  tion  of  women  and  tobacco  was  a  combination  that 
'   had  probably  never  occurred  to  her  father  as  possible. 
The    cigarette,    however,    was    as    a    matter    of    fact 
wasting  its   sweetness   uninhaled   and   burning   down 
with  a  long  peninsula  of  charred  paper  on  the  lee- 
ward side  of  it,  for  her  book  absorbed  her  quite  com- 
pletely.    Indeed,  this  seat  here  under  cover  of  the  box- 
hedge  was  a  manoeuvre  of  double  strategy,   for  the 

5 

403892 


6  THE    CHALLONERS 

book  was  no  less  anathema  in  this  house  than  the 
cigarette,  being,  in  fact,  "  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,"  by 
an  author  who,  however  celebrated,  yet  remained  in 
the  opinion  both  of  Helen's  father  and  aunt  a  person 
of  unchristian  belief  and  heathenish  conduct. 

Helen  wore  no  hat,  and  the  dusky,  smouldering  gold 
of  her  hair  burned  low  over  her  forehead.  Her  eye- 
lids, smooth  with  the  unwrinkled  firmness  of  flesh  of 
twenty-two  years,  drooped  low  over  her  book,  but 
between  the  lids  there  showed  a  thin  line  of  matchless 
violet.  There  were  but  a  few  pages  more  to  read,  and 
her  underlip,  full  and  sensitive  in  outline,  quivered 
from  time  to  time  with  the  emotion  that  so  filled  her, 
and  her  breath  came  quickly  through  her  thin  nostrils. 
As  she  read  on,  her  half-smoked  cigarette  dropped 
from  between  the  fingers  of  her  left  hand  and  sent 
up  little  whorls  of  blue  smoke  as  it  lay  unheeded  on 
the  grass,  and  her  eyes  grew  suddenly  dim.  Then 
the  last  page  was  turned,  and  with  a  sudden  sobbing 
intake  of  her  breath  she  closed  the  book. 

She  sat  quite  still  for  a  moment,  the  book  lying  in 
her  lap,  looking  with  misty,  unseeing  eyes  over  the 
great  stretch  of  open  land  and  sky  in  front  of  her. 
In  the  immediate  foreground  lay  the  croquet-lawn, 
with  disjected  mallets  and  aimless  balls  scattered 
about,  while  slowly  across  it,  like  some  silent  tide,  the 
shadows  grew  and  lengthened.  Beyond,  at  the  top  of 
a  grassy  bank  still  in  sunlight,  ran  a  terraced  walk 
bordered  deeply  with  tall  herbacious  plants;  farther 
out  of  sight  behind  the  border  were  a  few  fields, 
water  meadows  of  the  chalk-stream,  and  beyond  again 
and  above  rose  the  splendid  and  austere  line  of  Hamp- 
shire downs,  tanned  with  this  month  of  English  sum- 


THE    CHALLONERS  7 

mer  to  a  russet  mellowness.  A  sky  of  untarnished 
blue  held  a  slip  of  pale  and  crescent  moon,  and  the 
splendour  and  the  unutterable  sadness  of  evening,  of 
a  day  gone,  brooded  a  sweet,  regretful  presence  over 
everything. 

Suddenly  the  girl  sat  up. 

"  Martin !"  she  cried,  "  Martin !" 

"  Well?"  asked  a  very  lazy  voice  from  a  hammock 
between  two  trees  at  the  end  of  the  lawn. 

"  Come  here.     Oh,  do  come.     I  can't  shout." 

The  hammock-ropes  wheezed  and  creaked,  and  a 
tall,  loose-limbed  boy,  looking  not  much  more  than 
twenty,  strolled  over  to  where  she  sat. 

"I've  won  my  bet,"  he  said;  "so  pay  up,  Helen. 
I  said  the  end  would  make  you  cry.  You  are  crying, 
you  know.     I  count  that  crying." 

"  I  know.  I'll  pay  all  right,"  she  said.  "  I  almost 
wish  it  had  been  more." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Martin.  "  That's  easily  arranged 
then." 

Helen  paid  no  attention  to  this. 

"  Oh,  Martin,  those  two  coming  together  like  that 
at  the  end.     And  that  beast,  that  beast " 

"Stephen?" 

"  Yes,  among  others.  But  Tom  particularly.  They 
none  of  them  knew,  they  none  of  them  guessed  what 
she,  what  Maggie  was.  Oh,  oh !  How  horribly  sad, 
and  how  horribly  beautiful — like,  like  this  evening." 

Martin  took  out  his  cigarette-case. 

"  For  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No ;  you  gave  me  one  which  I  haven't — I  don't 
know  where  it  is.  Oh,  it's  smoking  itself  on  the  grass. 
Oh,  my  goodness!     Anyhow,  Maggie  lived;    that  is 


8  THE    CHALLONERS 

the  point.  Dreadful  people,  dreadful  circumstances,  all 
that  one  would  think  would  make  living  impossible, 
surrounded  her.  But  she  managed  it.  And  what 
am  I  to  do,  please?" 

Martin  laughed. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  know  how  like  you  that  is,"  he 
said. 

"What  is?" 

"  Your  instant  application  of  Maggie  to  yourself. 
Really  it  is  very  odd  that  you  and  I  are  twins.  If 
only  I  had  half  your  eye  for  the  practical  way  of  get- 
ting through  things,  I  should  pass  my  examinations. 
And  if  you  had  only  half  my  eye  for  the  theoretical 
beauty  of  leaving  distasteful  things  alone " 

Helen  sat  up  with  a  quick,  decisive  movement,  let- 
ting the  book  drop  on  the  grass. 

"  Martin,  if  we  didn't  happen  to  have  been  brother 
and  sister  we  should  have  fallen  desperately  in  love 
with  each  other  and  been  accepted  at  once.  At  least 
I  should  have  proposed  to  you,  and  you  would  cer- 
tainly have  said  *  Yes.'  And  I  should  have  made  home 
happy  for  you  on  twopence  farthing  a  year,  and  al- 
ways had  your  slippers  warm  when  you  came  home 
in  the  evening,  and  the  kettle  boiling  on  the  hob. 
And  you  could  have  spent  the  rest  of  our  joint  incomes 
on  grand  pianos  and  music  paper." 

"  You  are  too  overwhelmingly  generous,  Helen," 
said  he.     "  I  don't  think  I  can  accept  it  from  you." 

Helen  got  up. 

"  Oh,  how  I  hate,  how  I  hate "  she  began. 

"  That's  no  use,"  said  Martin. 

"Use?  Of  course  not.  Oh,  it's  all  very  well  for 
you.     You  are  away  half  the  year  at  Cambridge,  and 


THE    CHALLONERS  9 

have  no  end  of  a  time.  But  I  am  here.  I  and  the 
Room !" 

"  What's  the  '  Room'  ?"  asked  her  brother. 

Helen  pushed  back  her  hair  again  and  sat  down  on 
the  lawn  by  Martin. 

"  The  Room  is  the  latest  of  my  many  trials,"  she 
said.  "  It  is  quite  new.  Outside  it  is  corrugated  iron, 
inside  it  is  distemper,  covered  by  a  dreadful  sort  of 
moisture,  which  is  Essence  of  Village  Children.  On 
the  walls  there  are  maps  of  the  Holy  Land  and  Hamp- 
shire. I  know  the  road  from  Dan  even  unto  Beersheba 
as  well  as  I  know  the  road  from  here  to  Winchester. 
There  is  a  library  there  of  soiled  books  of  travel  and 
missionary  enterprise,  and  a  complete  set  of  "Good 
Words."  There  is  also  a  wellspring  there,  only  I  can't 
find  it  and  stop  it  up,  which  continually  pours  up  an 
odour  of  stuffiness.  It  is  the  sort  of  place  where 
nothing  nice  could  ever  happen.  And  there  on  Tues- 
day evening  I  teach  arithmetic  to  dreadful  little  boys. 
On  Wednesday  I  read  to  mothers, — I  am  getting  to 
hate  the  word, — who  knit  shapeless  articles  while  I 
read.  I  read  them  abominable  little  stories  about  the 
respective  powers  of  faith,  hope,  and  love,  and  the 
virtue  of  being  good,  and  the  vice  of  being  wicked.  I 
don't  suppose  any  of  them  could  be  wicked  if  they 
tried." 

Helen  paused  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  Martin,  it  is  heavenly  to  have  you  at  home, 
and  be  able  to  say  all  these  things  straight  out  just 
once.  It  makes  me  feel  so  much  better.  May  I  go 
on?" 

"  Yes;   take  your  time,"  said  Martin. 

"Well,  where  had  I  got  to?     Oh,  yes,  Wednesday. 


10  THE    CHALLONERS 

On  Thursday  Mr.  Wilkins, — he's  the  new  curate, 
whom  you  haven't  seen  yet:  spectacles,  bicycle,  and 
proposes  to  me  every  now  and  then, — Mr.  Wilkins  on 
Thursday  has  something  for  men  only ;  I  don't  know 
what,  but  I'm  sure  it's  dreadful.  Friday — girls'  class. 
And  on  Saturday  a  choir  practice.  A — Choir — Prac- 
tice.    Now,  you  have  been  to  church  here " 

"  Rather,"  said  Martin. 

"  And  heard  the  singing.  It  is  to  produce  that 
marvellous  result  that  we  practice.  Even  I  know  how 
awful  it  is.  There  was  a  man  called  the  Reverend 
P.  Henley.  I  sing  the  alto  of  his  horrid  chant.  Would 
you  like  to  hear  me  sing?  And  on  Sunday  I  have  the 
Sunday-school.  They  use  heaps  of  pomatum,  you 
know.  And  they  learn  by  heart  their  duty  towards 
their  neighbours,  and  when  I  am  not  looking  pull 
each  other's  hair.  Then  it  is  Monday  again,  and  we 
begin  all  over  again.  Oh,  think  of  it !  You  see,  I  am 
not  by  nature  a  ministering  angel,  and  I  have  to  spend 
my  whole  life  in  ministering  to  these  people.  They 
have  no  intelligence,  nothing  that  I  can  lay  hold  of 
or  join  hands  with.  It  is  not  their  fault,  and  it  is  not 
my  fault  that  I  am  not  a  ministering  angel.  But  what 
is  the  use  of  battering  at  their  intelligences  when  they 
haven't  got  any?  Also  they  are  personally  distasteful 
to  me." 

Martin  laughed  at  this  tirade,  and  thoughtfully  exe- 
cuted a  gnat  that  had  designed  to  dine  off  his  brown 
fingers. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  such  a  success,"  he  said. 
"  Father  held  you  up  to  me  as  an  example  and  a 
shining  light." 

"  Of  course  I'm  a  success,"  cried  Helen.     "  I've  got 


THE    CHALLONERS  11 

to  do  this  sort  of  thing;  and  if  one  has  to  do  some- 
thing, it  is  simple  imbeciHty  not  to  do  it  well.  You're 
an  imbecile,  you  know,  darling." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that,"  said  he.  "  At  least  I've  been 
told  it  often  enough." 

Helen  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  very  affection- 
ately at  her  brother's  long,  slim  figure  as  he  lay 
stretched  on  the  grass  by  her  side.  His  straw  hat  was 
tilted  over  his  eyes,  and  of  his  face  there  appeared 
only  his  chin  and  his  mouth  a  little  open,  shewing  a 
very  white  line  of  teeth.  And  the  current  of  her 
thoughts  hardly  changed  when  she  went  on  to  speak 
of  him,  not  herself. 

"  Martin,  how  is  it  you  can't  get  through  your  ex- 
aminations?" she  asked.  "You  do  work,  don't  you? 
And  though  I  called  you  an  imbecile  just  now,  you 
have  more  perception  than  most  people.  Or  do  you 
spend  all  your  day  at  the  piano?" 

"  He  has  forbidden  me  to  have  a  piano  in  my  rooms 
next  term,"  said  Martin.  "  So  I  shall  have  to  waste 
more  time  in  walking  to  the  pianos  of  other  people 
and  interrupting  their  work  as  well  as  my  own." 

"  Ah,  that's  too  bad,"  said  Helen. 

Martin  only  grunted  in  reply,  and  his  sister  went 
on: 

"  But  it  is  foolish  of  you,"  she  said.  "  Indeed  it  is 
foolish.  No  doubt  what  you  have  got  to  do,  Greek, 
Latin,  is  all  very  dull  to  you  and  seems  very  useless, 
but  it  is  surely  better  to  look  at  it  as  one  of  those 
things  that  has  got  to  be  done.  As  you  say,  and  as 
father  says,  and  as  I  say,  I  am  a  success  at  all  these 
dreadful  functions  in  the  Room.  Why?  Merely  be- 
cause it  has  got  to  be  done,  and  therefore,  although  it 


12  THE    CHALLONERS 

is  all  intensely  stupid  and  bores  me  so  much  that  I 
could  cry,  I  attend  sufficiently  to  do  it  respectably. 
Now,  can't  you  adopt  the  same  attitude  towards  clas- 
sics?   Besides,  you  know  what  father  feels  about  it." 

"  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  what  father  feels  about 
it,"  said  Martin,  dryly. 

"  Has  he  been  at  you  again  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  might  call  it  that  without  con- 
veying a  false  impression.  He  apparently  wants  to 
give  me  to  understand  that  it  is  some  moral  crime  not 
to  be  able  to  do  Greek  iambics.  Well,  I  am  a  criminal 
then.  I  can't.  Also  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  edu- 
cated without.  Then  I  began  arguing, — which  is  al- 
ways stupid, — and  said  I  supposed  it  depended  on  what 
one  meant  by  education.  And  he  said  he  imagined 
he  was  the  best  judge  of  that.     So  there  we  were." 

"And  what  do  you  mean  by  education?"  asked 
Helen. 

"  Why,  of  course,  the  appreciation  of  beauty,"  said 
Martin,  quickly.  "  '  O  world  as  God  has  made  it,' — 
you  know  the  lines." 

"  Ah,  say  them,"  she  said. 

Martin  sat  up,  tilting  back  his  hat. 

"  '  O  world  as  God  has  made  it,  all  is  beauty, 
And  knowing  this  is  love,  and  love  is  duty, 
What  further  may  be  sought  for  or  declared  ?' " 

"  Yes,  that  isn't  a  bad  creed,"  said  Helen. 

"  I  hope  not,  for  it  is  mine.  And  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  may  look  for  beauty  and  find  it  in  almost 
everything.  Where  you  look  for  it  should  depend 
entirely  on  your  tastes.  Father  finds  it  in  the  works 
of  Demosthenes,  but  I  in  the  works  of  Schumann  and 
a  few  other  people  he  has  never  heard  of." 


THE    CHALLONERS  13 

"  But  aren't  Greek  plays  beautiful  ?"  asked  Helen. 

"  Oh,  I  daresay.  But,  being  what  I  am,  music  con- 
cerns me  more.  Don't  let's  argue.  It  is  so  enfeebling. 
When  I  begin  arguing  I  always  feel  like  Mr.  Tulliver, 
when  he  said,  '  It's  puzzling  work,  is  talking.'  " 

Helen  laughed. 

"  Well,  you  and  I  ought  to  be  pretty  well  puzzled 
by  now,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sure  we've  talked  enough. 
I'll  play  you  one-half  game  of  croquet  before  dinner. 
Oh,  by  the  way,  father  is  dining  with  Uncle  Rupert. 
You  and  Aunt  Clara  and  I  will  be  alone.  You  will 
have  to  read  prayers." 

"  And  sing  the  hymn  an  octave  below,"  remarked 
Martin. 

The  Honorable  and  Reverend  Sidney  Challoner — 
or,  as  he  preferred  to  be  addressed,  the  Reverend- 
Honorable — was  a  man  of  method  and  economy  who 
hated  wasting  anything  from  time  down  to  the  brown 
paper  in  which  parcels  arrived,  and  at  this  moment  he 
was  employing  the  half-hour  before  it  was  necessary 
to  go  to  dress  for  dinner  at  Chartries,  his  brother's 
place,  which  stood  pleasantly  among  woods  about  a 
mile  distant,  in  finishing  his  sermon  for  Trinity  Sun- 
day. His  study,  where  he  worked,  was  singularly  like 
himself,  and  seemed  as  integral  a  part  of  him  as  the 
snail-shell  is  of  the  snail.  There  w^as  nothing,  for 
instance,  in  the  least  drowsy  or  dusty  about  the  room. 
Everything  was  in  its  place,  the  place  of  each  thing 
being  in  every  case  strictly  determined  by  the  use  to 
which  it  was  to  be  put,  and  the  frequency  with  which 
it  was  to  be  used.  A  scrupulously  orderly  and  ener- 
getic severity  in  fact,  was  the  keynote  of  the  room. 

Something    of    the    same    characteristic    also    ran 


14  THE    CHALLONERS 

through  the  sermon  at  which  he  was  working,  which 
was  an  exposition,  historically  introduced,  of  the  less 
encouraging  and  comfortable  verses  of  the  Athanasian 
creed,  which  his  congregation  would  have  recited 
during  the  service.  He  was  master  of  a  style  of  Eng- 
lish, in  itself  neat,  correct,  and  lucid,  which  served 
him,  not  as  in  the  sermons  of  so  many  preachers,  to 
clothe  and  cover  his  lack  of  ideas,  but  to  reveal  the 
abundance  of  them  and  convey  without  possibility  or 
misunderstanding,  but  rather  with  the  precision  of 
hitting  a  nail  on  the  head,  what  he  thought  on  any 
particular  subject.  There  survived  in  him,  indeed,  a 
full  if  not  a  double  portion  of  the  Puritan  spirit  on 
religious  matters;  and  though  his  mind,  his  soul,  his 
actions  were  all  dictated  and  impelled  by  a  fervent  and 
whole-hearted  Christianity,  yet  his  eloquence  was  wont 
to  dwell,  and  did  so  here,  on  the  doctrine  of  eternal 
damnation  with  a  very  curious  gusto.  It  appeared  to 
him  that  the  truth  of  it  was  abundantly  warranted  in 
the  Bible,  and  that  it  was  therefore  his  duty  as  minis- 
ter of  the  Word  to  bring  this  as  well  as  other  doctrines 
home  to  his  flock.  And  something  of  the  same  grim 
aspect  of  duty  extended  to  affairs  of  ordinary  life ;  and 
where  censure  was  clearly  deserved,  any  offence  was 
visited  by  him  with  a  force  that  his  approbation  some- 
times lacked  if  there  was  nothing  to  blame.  The 
Puritan,  too,  survived  in  a  certain  mistrust  he  had  of 
mirth  and  gaiety:  without  being  in  the  least  sour,  he 
was  so  intensely  serious  that  at  any  given  moment  it 
appeared  to  him  that  there  was  probably  something 
better  to  do  than  to  laugh,  and  a  moment's  thought 
easily  discovered  what  it  was.  Of  work  he  was  in- 
satiable :   if  he  was  unsparing  to  others,  at  any  rate  he 


THE    CHALLONERS  15 

never  spared  himself,  and  the  day  of  rest  was  to  all 
in  his  house  the  most  iron  day  of  all.  All  pleasure, 
except  that  which  was  to  him  the  greatest  pleasure  in 
life,  active  religious  work  and  religious  exercises,  was 
put  away;  but  since  all  exercises,  even  religious  ones, 
are  fatiguing,  it  was  a  weary  household  that  went  up 
to  bed  on  Sunday  evening. 

Now,  though  to  have  a  very  strong  vocation  towards 
a  particular  work,  to  be  convinced  that  such  work  is 
the  highest  and  best  in  the  world,  and  to  do  it  is  a 
disposition  of  affairs  that  makes  for  happiness,  it  is 
probable  that  if  you  had  taken  Mr.  Challoner  una- 
wares and  asked  him  if  he  was  happy,  he  would  have 
hesitated  before  he  answered.  For,  in  spite  of  his 
firm  and  convinced  attitude,  both  towards  life  in  gen- 
eral and  to  those  most  intimate  with  him,  there  rose 
deep  down  in  the  man  a  great  fountain  of  tenderness, 
a  great  longing  for  love.  Herein  lay  the  secret  tragedy 
of  his  life :  he  longed  with  the  same  intensity  with 
which  he  served  God  for  the  ordinary  human  affec- 
tions and  relationships,  but  through  the  armour-crust 
of  his  nature — an  armour,  be  it  noted,  of  welded  and 
hammered  work  and  duty — his  human  hand  could  not 
break  its  way  to  clasp  the  hands  of  others.  That  still 
was  the  tragedy  of  his  life  with  regard  to  his  two 
children,  just  as  it  had  been  even  more  bitterly  so  with 
regard  to  his  wife,  a  half-Italian  by  birth,  whom  he 
had  adored  with  that  serious  fervour  which  suffused 
his  nature.  It  was  just  his  spiritual  anxiety  and  care 
for  her  which  had,  by  a  refined  irony  of  fate,  come 
like  an  impassible  barrier  between  them.  To  her  he 
seemed  always  to  be  checking  the  innocent  and  sunny 
impulses  of  joy  that  were  as  vitally  hers  as  fervour 


16  THE    CHALLONERS 

was  his.  He  put  it  that  there  was  always  something 
better  to  be  done  with  the  precious  passing  hours  than 
to  sing  or  laugh  or  gather  flowers  or  embroider  some 
dainty  fragment  of  personal  embellishment.  Or, 
rather,  let  her  take  these  innocent  tastes  and  raise  them, 
elevate  them,  dedicate  them.  Let  her  sing  by  all 
means,  but  let  her  gift  of  music  be  devoted  to  the  help 
of  the  parish  choir;  let  her  gather  flowers  to  send  to 
the  sick;  let  her  embroider  an  altar-cloth.  But  poor 
Mrs.  Challoner,  a  girl  still  in  years,  whose  motor-power 
in  life  was  joy,  found  that  to  fit  her  pleasures  to  use- 
ful ends  meant  that  they  ceased  to  be  pleasures. 
There  are  many  natures,  not  necessarily  shallow  or 
selfish,  like  that;  and  when  her  husband  told  her  that 
the  flowers  with  which  she  loved  to  fill  her  rooms  were 
beautiful  to  her  so  that  thereby  her  thoughts  might 
be  led  heavenwards,  she  was  minded  to  throw  them 
away. 

From  the  first,  indeed,  the  marriage  had  been 
strangely  ill-assorted.  It  may  have  been  made  in 
heaven,  but  in  that  case  it  would  probably  have  been 
far  better  if  it  had  not  come  down  to  earth.  Sidney 
Challoner  had  had  his  reason  and  his  senses  taken  cap- 
tive for  a  time  by  this  delicious  piece  of  dew  and  sun- 
light; on  her  side  his  imperiousness,  his  eager  over- 
mastering desire  for  her,  his  extreme  good  looks,  and 
perhaps  also  the  fact  that  he  stood  next  in  succession 
to  the  earldom  of  Flintshire,  his  elder  brother,  the  pres- 
ent holder  of  that  delightful  position,  being  unmar- 
ried, led  her  to  accept  his  devotion.  This  disillusion- 
ment had  soon  come  to  each.  The  exquisite  child-like 
beauty  of  his  wife,  behind  which  he  had  conjectured 
the  child-like   spirit,   he   found   to  be  a  mere  mask; 


THE    CHALLONERS  17 

while  to  her  the  fiery,  dominating  lover  turned  to  a 
hard,  unbending  master.  A  year  after  their  marriage 
twins  were  born,  and  from  that  time  the  girl-mother 
had  drooped  and  dwindled.  The  fogs  of  this  northern 
climate — fogs,  too,  more  intimate  and  distressing  of 
mind  and  spirit — and  the  absence  of  mirth  and  laughter 
chilled  her  to  the  bone,  and  a  year  afterwards  she  was 
dead. 

Her  death  left  him  inconsolable,  in  so  far  that  he 
determined  never  to  marry  again ;  but  when  his  sister 
Clara  came  to  keep  house  for  him  and  look  after  the 
early  education  of  Martin  and  Helen,  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  widower  found  himself  more  comfort- 
able than  he  had  been.  For  Clara  w^as  one  of  those 
not  uncommon  English  spinsters  who  had  a  perfect 
passion  for  doing  the  things  she  ought  to  do  and 
leaving  completely  undone  the  things  she  ought  not. 
As  the  feminine  element  in  the  house  of  a  parish  priest 
it  was  her  clear  mission  to  be  aunt,  if  not  mother,  to 
the  flock,  and  classes  and  instructions,  so  hated  of  her 
niece's  soul,  grew  up  under  her  care  like  seed  sown  in 
April.  She  had  practically  no  pleasures,  and  her  only 
relaxation  was  Patience,  which  she  played  regularly 
from  the  time  dinner  was  finished  till  family  prayers 
at  a  quarter  to  ten.  Precisely  at  twenty  minutes  to 
ten,  if  the  cards  were  going  awkwardly,  she  began  to 
cheat,  and  continued,  if  necessary,  to  cheat  until  the 
parlourmaid  began  to  set  out  a  row  of  chairs  for  the 
servants.  Thus  she  was  able  by  the  time  they  filed  in 
to  sweep  the  cards  triumphantly  up  together  in  their 
due  and  proper  order  and  be  humbly  thankful  for  the 
temptations  into  which  she  had  not  fallen  that  day. 

Mr.  Challoner  this  evening  found  that  the  perora- 


18  THE    CHALLONERS 

tion  with  which  he  concluded  his  sermon  took  rather 
less  time  than  he  had  anticipated,  and  there  was  still 
some  ten  minutes  after  he  had  arranged  the  sheets  in 
order  and  placed  them  under  a  paper-weight  to  be  read 
through  in  the  morning  before  he  need  go  to  dress. 
As  his  custom  was,  he  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment 
after  finishing  his  work,  in  silent  prayer  that  it  might 
bear  good  fruit,  and  then,  hearing  the  clash  of  croquet- 
balls  from  the  garden,  he  strolled  out  to  see  his  children. 
He  had  had  a  very  unpleasant  talk  with  Martin  that 
morning  on  the  subject  of  his  late  failure  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  though  the  occasion  seemed  to  him  then 
and  seemed  still  to  have  demanded  stern  speaking,  he 
had  wondered  several  times  since  whether  he  had  not 
been  too  severe.  Yet  how  else  except  by  very  earnest 
remonstrance  could  he  awaken  in  the  lad  his  sense  of 
responsibility  with  regard  to  the  spending  of  the  days 
that  would  never  come  again.  All  his  life  he  had 
faithfully  and  strenuously  striven  to  implant  in  his  boy 
the  duty  of  making  the  best  and  the  most  of  his  youth. 
Prayer  and  work  were  the  two  great  guides  of  life. 
These  must  be  constant  and  concentrated;  and  how 
gravely  and  mortally  would  he  himself  be  to  blame  if 
through  any  want  of  inculcation  on  his  part  his  son 
grew  up  tepid  in  the  one  and  slack  in  the  other.  Still, 
and  here  his  essential  tenderness  groped  about,  Martin 
was  young  yet  and  more  tender  perhaps  in  mind  even 
than  in  years,  and  the  clash  of  croquet-balls  and  a  sud- 
den burst  of  boyish  laughter  from  the  lawn  made  him 
long  to  enter  into  his  children's  pleasures.  So  without 
putting  on  his  hat,  for  the  evening  breeze  was  not  too 
cool  to  the  head,  he  went  out  down  the  box-hedge  and 
round  the  corner  on  to  the  croquet-lawn. 


THE    CHALLONERS  19 

Martin,  standing  with  his  back  to  him,  had  not  heard 
his  approach,  and  was  examining  the  position  of  his 
two  balls,  which  were  quite  close  together,  but  with  an 
uncompromising  wire  between  them.  On  the  bank 
where  they  had  been  sitting  lay  "  The  Mill  on  the 
Floss,"  and  Helen  was  standing  close  by  her  brother, 
in  the  proud,  calm  consciousness  of  having  wired  him 
with  complete  success. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  devilish  things  to  do,  Helen,"  said 
Martin  at  length,  and  struck  wildly  in  the  hopes  of  an 
impossible  cannon  off  the  wire. 

"  My  turn,  I  think,"  she  said. 

She  walked  across  to  the  ball  in  play  and  saw  her 
father. 

"  Come  and  play,  father,"  she  said. 

"  No,  dear;  thanks.  I  must  go  and  dress  in  a  few 
minutes.     Martin,  old  boy,  come  here  a  moment." 

Again  his  duty,  the  need  for  remonstrance,  strove 
with  his  tenderness. 

"  Martin,"  he  said,  gently,  "  that's  rather  strong  lan- 
guage to  use  to  your  sister,  isn't  it?  Don't  get  in  that 
sort  of  habit,  dear  fellow;  never  use  words  idly  like 
that." 

At  this  all  the  genial  instinctive  pleasure  faded  out 
of  Martin's  face  and  his  eyes  fell. 

"  Yes,  father,  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  in  a  perfectly  dull, 
conventional  voice. 

"  I  know  it  was  only  thoughtlessness,  old  boy,"  said 
his  father ;  "  but  try  to  think.  There  then.  How's 
the  game  going? — is  Helen  playing  with  the  frightful 
precision  we  are  getting  accustomed  to?  Look  there, 
she's  hit  your  ball  from  right  across  the  lawn.  Don't 
be  too  merciless,  Helen,  with  your  poor  brother." 


20  THE    CHALLONERS 

Helen  smiled  and  made  some  laughing  reply  to  her 
father.  Then  her  eye  caught  sight  of  the  book  lying 
on  the  bank,  her  smile  faded,  and  as  she  went  after 
the  ball  she  had  hit  she  wondered  what  could  be  done. 
She  guessed,  though  she  had  not  heard  the  words,  that 
Martin  had  already  been  rebuked  for  wdiat  he  had 
said.  She  knew  there  had  been  one  dreadful  hour 
already  that  morning,  and  another  was  certain  if  her 
father  saw  the  book.  Mean  time  he  was  strolling 
down  the  lawn  right  in  its  direction,  where  it  was 
lying  radiant  and  blatant  in  its  crimson  cover  on  the 
vivid  green  of  the  grass.  Martin  also  had  seen  what 
would  happen,  and  as  she  passed  him  whispered  to 
her: 

"  He'll  see  it.  O  Lord !"  with  a  drearily  comic  ex- 
pression. 

Mr.  Challoner  strolled  on,  came  to  where  the  book 
lay,  and  picked  it  up  with  the  amiable  intention  of  put- 
ting it  on  the  chair  to  save  its  cover  from  the  damp. 
As  he  did  this,  he  read  the  title  on  the  back.  Then 
there  was  a  dreadful  pause. 

"  Is  this  yours,  Martin  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  father." 

Mr.  Challoner  said  nothing  more,  but  went  on  his 
w^ay,  taking  the  book  with  him.  At  the  corner  of  the 
box-hedge,  however,  he  turned. 

"  If  you  are  up  when  I  come  back,  Martin,"  he  said, 
'Svill  you  come  into  my  study?  But  don't  wait  up 
for  me  if  I  am  late." 

He  turned  his  back  again  to  walk  on,  and  Martin 
thought  he  had  gone.  But  next  moment  he  paused 
again,  and  raised  his  voice  slightly. 

"  You  should  answer  when  I  speak  to  you,"  he  said. 


THE    CHALLONERS  21 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone,  sir,"  said  Martin,  with  a 
little  tremor  of  irritation  in  his  tone. 

This  time  he  passed  out  of  sight,  and  Martin  threw 
down  his  croquet-mallet. 

"  Rather  bad  luck,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  popular  to- 
day. Helen,  what  a  fool  you  were  to  leave  it  on  the 
grass." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  Martin,"  she  said.  "  What  can 
I  do?  Would  it  do  any  good  if  I  said  I  had  been 
reading  it  ?" 

"  No,  not  the  slightest,"  said  he.  "  There  would  be 
enough  to  go  round." 

"  I  will  if  you  like,"  said  she.  "  You  see,  the  worst 
of  it  is  that  only  three  days  ago,  the  day  before  you 
came  home,  he  said  that  he  would  not  have  a  book  of 
hers  in  the  house.  But  you  couldn't  be  expected  to 
know  that." 

"  No,  but  I  did,"  said  Martin,  "  because  you  told 
me." 

Helen  threw  down  her  mallet  too. 

"  Oh,  it's  dreary,"  she  said. 

Lord  Flintshire,  Mr.  Challoner's  elder  brother,  with 
whom  he  was  dining  to-night,  was  a  figure  of  some  dis- 
tinction. He  had  been  at  one  time  a  political  factor 
of  great  weight  in  the  country,  a  weight  due  chiefly 
to  the  force  of  inertia,  since  he  never  professed  the 
least  personal  interest  in  politics  and  could  not  possibly 
be  considered  as  having  any  ambition  or  aim  to  gratify 
in  spending  so  much  time  and  labour  in  the  interests 
of  the  Conservative  party.  His  wealth  and  position, 
in  fact,  were  like  a  large,  heavy  parcel  strongly  tied  up 
and  dropped  into  the  Tory  scale.  But  at  the  age  of 
fifty-five  he  and   they   considered   that   he   had   done 


22  THE    CHALLONERS 

enough,  resigned  the  Cabinet  appointment  he  held,  and 
for  the  last  seven  years  had  devoted  himself  with  far 
more  zest  than  he  had  ever  brought  into  the  political 
arena  to  the  aristocratic  pursuit  of  doing  nothing  what- 
ever. To  the  successful  discharge  of  this  he  brought 
all  his  acuteness  and  perception  and  practised  it  with 
such  charming  success  as  to  raise  it  to  the  level  of  a 
fine  art.  He  was  never  in  a  hurry  and  never  either  felt 
or  exhibited  the  slightest  sign  of  irritation  or  annoy- 
ance at  anything  which  the  world  or  the  powers  of 
heaven  or  hell  chose  to  do.  He  had  great  apprecia- 
tion of  the  fine  arts  and  even  a  higher  appreciation  of 
the  inimitable  comedy  of  life,  so  that  to  live  in  a  beauti- 
ful house,  which  he  did,  and  fill  it  with  congenial 
people  constituted  for  him  a  far  more  engrossing  occu- 
pation than  politics  had  ever  been.  For  his  brother 
Sidney  he  had  a  very  real  affection,  but  also  a  cer- 
tain sympathetic  pity.  He  could  understand,  as  he 
had  once  told  him,  what  it  must  be  to  "  feel  like 
that." 

"  You  live  perpetually  in  a  bracing  climate,  my  dear 
fellow,"  he  said,  "  and  find  it  positively  necessary  to  do 
dumb-bells  all  day.  Yes,  I  will  certainly  give  you  a 
hundred  pounds  for  your  village  Room.  I  shall  be 
charmed  to  do  so,  but  I  don't  want  to  hear  about  it. 
And,  pray,  let  me  know  if  you  want  more." 

There  was  only  a  small  party  that  night,  and  when 
the  women  went  upstairs  and  the  men  seceded  to  the 
smoking-room.  Lord  Flintshire  detained  his  brother  for 
a  moment  as  he  was  leaving. 

"  Will  you  not  stop  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  my  dear 
fellow,"  he  said,  "and  have  a  chat?  I  have  not  seen 
you  since  Easter.     How  are  you  all?    How  are  Helen 


THE    CHALLONERS  23 

and  Martin  ?  That  girl  grows  handsomer  every  time  I 
see  her.    And  Martin?" 

"  Martin  has  just  achieved  one  of  his  annual  fail- 
ures at  Cambridge,"  said  his  father.  "  Yes,  I  will  wait 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Rupert.  I  should  like  to  talk  to 
you  about  him.     I  am  a  good  deal  troubled." 

"Wild  oats  of  some  kind?"  asked  the  other.  "If 
so,  I  should,  if  I  were  you,  look  very  steadily  in  another 
direction.  As  one  grows  older,  my  dear  Sidney,  one 
is  apt  to  look  on  wild  oats  as  something  much  more 
poisonous  than  they  really  are — nightshade — deadly 
nightshade,  for  instance.  But  they  are  only  wild  oats 
really." 

Sidney  sat  down. 

"  Ah,  you  don't  expect  me  to  share  that  view,"  he 
said.  "  Sin  is  sin  whether  you  are  twenty  or  sixty. 
But  Martin,  as  far  as  I  know,  has  not  been " 

"  Playing  about,"  said  Lord  Flintshire,  with  the 
amiable  desire  to  find  a  periphrasis.  But  it  did  not 
please  his  brother. 

"  I  can't  discuss  things  with  you  in  that  spirit,"  he 
said.  "  However,  that  point  is  really  alien.  I  have 
no  reason  to  suspect  Martin  of  such  things.  But  what 
I  deplore  is  his  general  slackness.  It  is  to  the  mind  like 
low  physical  health  to  the  body :  it  predisposes  to  all 
diseases.  I  had  to  speak  to  him  severely  about  his 
failure  at  Cambridge  this  morning, — too  severely  per- 
haps,— and  this  evening  again  he  has  distressed  me 
very  much." 

"  What  has  he  done?"  asked  Rupert. 

"  Well,  you  will  think  it  very  insignificant,  no  doubt, 
but  to  me  it  appears  most  significant  of  his  general 
state.    He  was  playing  croquet  with  Helen  and  I  heard 


24  THE    CHALLONERS 

him  say  to  her,  '  Well,  of  all  the  devilish  things  to  do.' 
Now,  when  we  were  boys,  Rupert,  we  didn't  say  that 
sort  of  thing  at  all,  and  we  couldn't  have  said  it  to 
our  sisters." 

Lord  Flintshire  felt  some  kindly  amusement  at  this. 
Sidney  was  such  a  dear  fellow. 

"  But  it  is  some  years  since  we  were  boys,"  said  he 
at  length,  "  and  rightly  or  wrongly  the  world  has  be- 
gun to  take  things  more — how  shall  I  say  it — to  ride 
life  on  the  snaffle  instead  of  the  curb.  What  else  has 
Martin  done?" 

"  He  has  brought  into  the  house  '  The  Mill  on  the 
Floss.'  " 

Rupert's  admirable  courtesy  enabled  him  not  to 
smile. 

"  Have  you  read  the  book?"  he  asked. 

"  No ;  but  I  will  not  have  a  book  of  that  author  in 
the  house.  I  said  so  only  the  other  day.  Martin  must 
have  known  it.  For  all  I  know,  he  has  given  it  to  his 
sister  to  read." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Lord  Flintshire,  quietly.  "  Be- 
cause it  is  a  very  beautiful  book.  Of  course  his  dis- 
obedience to  your  wishes  is  a  different  point,  and  to 
my  mind  a  more  serious  one.  But  am  I  to  understand 
that  you  are  consulting  me  as  to  what  general  line  you 
should  take  with  Martin,  what  policy  you  should  pur- 
sue?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  much  puzzled,  and  I  cannot  seem 
to  get  any  guidance  about  it.  It  does  no  good,  I  am 
afraid,  to  pull  the  poor  lad  up  first  here  and  then  there 
thirty  times  a  day.  And  it  appears  to  do  no  good 
either  to  talk  to  him  on  the  general  principles  of 
earnestness  and  industry.     But  I  do  so  want  him  to 


THE    CHALLONERS  25 

grasp  them.  All  the  faults  I  see  in  him  spring  from 
slackness.  He  will  not  think.  He  did  not  think  what 
the  word  he  used  to  his  sister  means.  He  never  thinks 
how  just  a  little  carelessness  about  his  work  repeated 
and  again  repeated  must  lead  to  a  habit  of  idleness.  I 
am  most  deeply  thankful  that  our  father  was  strict  with 
us,  Rupert.     He  made  industry  a  habit  with  one." 

Rupert  laughed. 

"  A  habit  from  which  I  have  succeeded  in  freeing 
myself,"  he  said.  "  But  Martin  is  not  slack  about 
everything.     He  is  not  slack  about  music." 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  distraction  which  is  responsible  for  a 
great  deal  of  his  idleness,"  said  his  father.  "  But  I 
have  forbidden  him  to  have  a  piano  in  his  room  next 
term." 

Lord  Flintshire  did  not  pursue  this.  There  was  a 
plot  already  on  foot  here,  and  his  brother  got  up,  and 
with  his  quick,  neat  touch  put  straight  a  couple  of 
books  lying  on  the  table. 

''  There  is  this,  too,"  he  said.  "  Not  only  does  my 
continual  correction  of  him  seem  to  do  no  real  good, 
but  it  certainly  does  harm  to  my  relations  with  the 
boy.  He  will  get  to  look  on  me  as  a  continual  menace 
to  his  pleasure,  as  a  continual  school-master.  And  I 
want  to  be  kind  to  the  lad,  to  make  him  happy,  to  make 
a  friend  of  him.  But  when  that  which  I  consider  my 
duty  leads  me  to  correct  him,  and  again  and  again  to 
correct  him,  I  am  so  afraid  that  his  estimate  of  the 
love  I  bear  him  will  be  lowered,  eclipsed.  And  noth- 
ing in  the  world,  Rupert,  could  be  sadder  to  me  than 
that  my  children  should  not  think  of  me  as  their 
friend." 

His  strong,  tender  voice  quivered  for  a  moment  as 


26  THE    CHALLONERS 

he  spoke  these  words,  and  he  paused  a  moment  to 
regain  the  complete  control  of  himself. 

"  But  nothing,  not  even  that,"  he  said,  "  must  or 
shall  stand  in  my  way  or  count  for  anything  in  regard 
to  the  responsibility  which  God  has  laid  upon  me  to 
make  my  children  worthy  children  of  Him.  I  should 
be  the  weakest  and  most  culpable  of  fathers  if  for  the 
sake  of  any  human  affection,  however  sweet,  I  sacri- 
ficed one  jot  or  tittle  of  that." 

Rupert  was  silent  a  moment.  Though  he  had  al- 
ways felt  great  respect  and  esteem  and  strong  affec- 
tion for  his  brother,  he  had  never  found  him,  emo- 
tionally speaking,  particularly  interesting.  He  had  the 
greatest  admiration  for  his  industrious,  strenuous  life, 
his  undoubted  mental  gifts,  his  swift  and  keen  intelli- 
gence, the  absolute  undeviating  probity  of  his  char- 
acter; but  his  admiration  had  been  somewhat  of  the 
sort  a  mechanician  may  feel  for  his  bright  engine  with 
its  rhythmical  accuracy,  its  precise  strokes,  its  clean 
efficiency  and  strength.  But  suddenly  the  engine  had 
developed  a  human  and  a  pathetic  side :  its  throbs  were 
not  steam-driven  only,  but  they  were  the  throbs  of  a 
human  heart.  True,  he  had  known  the  wild  adora- 
tion of  Sidney  for  his  girl-wife,  but  that  with  its 
speedy  disillusionment  had  seemed  to  him  the  one  con- 
cession Sidney  had  made  to  the  flesh.  It  was  human, 
but  it  was  not  high  humanity,  otherwise  he  would  have 
made  a  better  recovery,  so  to  speak.  His  passion  had 
been  awakened  then,  but  not  the  man,  and  his  religion 
and  his  passion  together  had  mixed  no  better  than  oil 
and  water.    The  experience  had  not  humanized  him. 

Lord  Flintshire's  strong  appreciation  of  the  inimi- 
table comedy  of  life  did  not  help  him  here,  as  he  sat 


THE    CHALLONERS  27 

silent  for  a  moment  before  replying.  Elements  of 
comedy  were  not  wanting,  his  brother's  heart-felt  dis- 
tress at  the  fact  of  Martin  calling  his  sister  devilish, 
for  instance,  was  ludicrous  enough,  but  these  things 
combined  to  form  nothing  to  laugh  at;  the  result  was 
tragedy,  tragedy  in  no  grand  and  great  style,  but  a 
pitiful  little  tragedy  of  misunderstanding  and  estrange- 
ment. And  Rupert,  knowing  his  brother  and  knowing 
Martin,  saw  no  possibility  of  comedy  entering  with 
any  unexpected  "  happy  ending."  For  Sidney  was, 
so  to  speak,  an  irreconcileable :  he  admitted  no  sort  or 
shadow  of  compromise ;  he  would  hold  no  parleying 
Math  the  enemy,  even  if  the  enemy  was  entrenched  in 
one  of  his  own  household.  He  and  Martin,  in  fact, 
disagreed  vitally  and  fundamentally;  the  lad  was  a 
good  lad  accidentally,  essentially  he  was  an  artist  to 
his  finger-tips.  Those  were  the  influences  which  gov- 
erned him.  But  to  his  father  all  the  artists  and  all 
the  artistic  achievements  of  man  were  no  more  than  a 
fringe  on  the  visible  garment  of  God. 

"  No  one  can  really  help  you  in  this,"  said  Rupert 
at  length,  ''  except  yourself  and  Martin.  But  I  can 
suggest  to  you  a  certain  point  of  view.  Do,  I  beg  you, 
allow  for  individualism  in  other  people.  You  yourself, 
dear  Sidney,  have  a  great  deal  of  it.  But  there  is  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  Martin  has  any  less.  And  re- 
member abso  that  the  younger  generation  is  always 
ahead  of  the  elder,  and  though  we  can,  by  using  ex- 
treme care,  influence  them  a  little,  yet  the  reins  of 
government  are  in  their  hands,  not  ours.  That  is 
partly  why  I  retired  from  politics.  And  as  a  practical 
suggestion  I  offer  you  this :  I  beg  you  to  say  nothing 
more  about  '  The  Mill  on  the  Floss'  to  Martin.     It  is 


28  THE    CHALLONERS 

quite  impossible  that  he  should  agree  with  you,  simply 
because  he  is  of  the  next  generation  to  you.  Indeed, 
if  you  do  not  take  care,  that  which  you  are  afraid  of 
will  certainly  happen,  even  if  it  has  not  happened  al- 
ready. He  will  get  to  think  of  you  as  a  man  who  is 
always  finding  fault,  always  correcting — a  thing  fatal 
to  friendship." 

"  Is  it  irremediable  if  it  has  already  happened?" 
asked  Sidney,  with  a  rather  pathetic  humility. 

"  Of  course  it  is  not,  just  because  boys  are  so  ex- 
traordinarily generous,  so  eager  to  like  one.  Martin  is 
a  delightful  boy :  he  is  upright,  honest,  clean.  Be 
thankful  for  that,  and  let  him  develop  on  his  own 
lines.  He  will  do  so,  by  the  way,  whether  you  like  it 
or  not;  so  it  is  just  as  well  to  like  it.  Besides,  you 
must  not  interfere  with  other  people's  individualities. 
I  feel  that  rather  strongly." 

Lord  Flintshire  got  up  and  began  walking  softly  up 
and  down  the  room.  In  face  he  was  very  like  his 
brother,  but,  though  older,  he  looked  younger,  for 
there  was  a  softness  about  his  features  extraordinarily 
youthful. 

"  As  one  gets  old,  my  dear  Sidney,"  he  said,  '"'  one 
stands  in  danger  of  getting  old-fashioned.  That  seems 
to  me  to  be  a  very  terrible  thing.  One's  own  convic- 
tions may  become  hard,  fixed  in  outline,  incapable  of 
growth  or  adaptation,  and  one  may  become  incapable 
of  imagining  that  one  can  be  wrong.  You  may 
draw  your  convictions  from  the  highest  source ;  you 
may  be  able  to  say  quite  honestly,  '  I  believe  with 
my  whole  heart  that  the  will  of  God  is  so.'  But,  as 
Oliver  Cromwell  once  remarked,  '  It  is  just  possible 
that  one  may  be  mistaken.'  " 


THE    CHALLONERS  29 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"  I  seldom  talk  so  much,"  he  said,  "  but  I  have  not 
quite  done  even  now.  The  younger  generation,  take 
them  all  round,  ride  life,  as  I  said,  on  the  snaffle.  Now, 
if  3'ou  choose,  you  may  call  that  slackness,  and  as  slack- 
ness condemn  it.  But  all  your  condemnation  of  it  will 
do  no  good.  Martin  will  continue  to  be  what  you  call 
slack;  mean  time  you  are  in  danger  of  becoming  what 
he  would  call  tiresome.  He  will  also,  on  occasion, 
continue  to  call  his  sister  '  devilish.'  Nor  is  there  the 
slightest  reason  why  he  should  not.  If  you  or  I  had 
called  our  sisters  devilish  when  we  were  boys,  it  would 
have  been  undesirable.  What  you  forget  is  that  '  devil- 
ish' does  not  mean  now  what  it  meant  thirty  years  ago, 
nor  does  Martin  mean  by  it  what  you  mean  by  it." 

Mr.  Challoner  got  up  too,  his  mouth  drawn  rather 
tight. 

'*  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  advice,  Ru- 
pert," he  said,  "  but  I  find  I  disagree  with  you  in 
principle  so  absolutely  and  fundamentally  that  there 
is  no  use  in  my  discussing  with  you.  I  too  claim  my 
individual  liberty,  a  very  large  part  of  which  is  con- 
cerned with  my  sense  of  responsibility  for  my  chil- 
dren." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  make  a  great  mistake,"  said 
Lord  Flintshire. 

"  I  cannot  alter  my  convictions." 

"  And  you  will  make  a  great  mess  of  it,"  said  the 
other. 


CHAPTER    II 

Lady  Sunningdale  had  few  habits,  and  was  thus 
very  adaptable,  but  one  was  to  make  a  punctual  first 
appearance  half  an  hour  before  luncheon.  Her  ap- 
pearance, though  long-delayed,  was  brilliant  when  it 
came,  and  it  was  as  if  a  fresh  and  many-coloured  sun 
had  arisen  to  take  the  shine  out  of  the  splendour  of  the 
noon-day.  Years  were  the  only  things  in  which  she 
was  no  longer  young,  but  the  youthfuln^ss  of  her  mind, 
tastes,  character  was  perfectly  spontaneous  and  natu- 
ral, and  she  still  retained  to  the  full  all  the  eager  curi- 
osity of  youth,  all  youth's  insatiable  appetite  for  pleas- 
ure. In  person  she  was  very  tall  and  largely  made,  but 
she  moved  with  exquisite  briskness  and  vigour,  and, 
though  stout,  still  clung  to  her  waist.  Her  hat  gener- 
ally contained  a  perfect  aviary  of  birds  perched  about 
on  it,  and  her  dresses  to  match  her  tastes  were  rather 
youthful  in  cut  and  colour.  She  wore  also  white  satin 
shoes  with  extremely  high  heels,  which  had  been 
known,  when  she  walked  in  wet  or  clayey  places,  to 
be  drawn  with  a  cloop,  like  the  drawing  of  a  cork, 
completely  off  her  feet,  the  heel  being  driven  into  the 
ground  by  her  weight  in  the  manner  of  a  nail.  But, 
as  a  rule,  she  avoided  clayey  places;  indeed,  she  sel- 
dom walked  at  all,  except  at  this  stated  time,  half  an 
hour  before  luncheon.  But  she  made  up  for  her  lack 
of  walking  by  talking;  this  she  did  on  all  occasions 
to  as  many  people  as  possible,  and  was  extremely  en- 
tertaining. 
30 


THE    CHALLONERS  31 

She  was  staying  now  (she  spent  the  greater  part  of 
her  Hfe  in  staying)  for  a  rather  extensive  week-end, 
that  is  to  say  from  Friday  till  Monday,  with  Lord 
Flintshire,  and  the  morning  after  her  arrival  came 
radiantly  downstairs  at  a  quarter-past  one.  Two 
irrepressible  dachshunds  barked  excitedly  round  her, 
and  as  she  stepped  on  to  the  terrace  where  her  host  was 
sitting,  she  was  trying,  without  the  least  success,  to 
put  up  a  pale-blue  sunshade  with  a  handle  of  Saxe- 
china. 

"  Dear  Flints,"  she  cried,  "  how  sweet  of  you  to 
wait  for  me!  Where  is  everybody?  Yes.  Isn't  it  a 
divine  morning?  Everything  looks  as  if  it  had  been 
washed  during  the  night.  Why  is  one  such  a  fool  as 
ever  to  leave  the  country  and  go  to  London?  If  one 
had  a  single  spark  of  originality  one  w^ould  never  go 
near  it.  Yes.  Please  put  up  my  sunshade  for  me, 
I  know  I  look  hideous  this  morning ;  but  it  doesn't  mat- 
ter how  one  looks  in  the  country,  which  is  another  of 
its  charms.  But  I  didn't  sleep  a  wink, — I  never  close 
my  eyes  in  the  country ;  really,  London  is  the  place  to 
live  in.  I  have  contradicted  myself,  have  I  not  ?  Who 
cares?  I'm  sure  I  don't.  Where  are  the  dogs ?  Please 
whistle  on  your  fingers,  if  you  can.  So  piercing,  is  it 
not?  There  they  are!  Ah,  how  naughty!  Yes,  who 
cares  whether  one  contradicts  one's  self?  It  shews,  in 
fact,  that  one's  powers  of  sympathy  and  of  seeing 
other  points  of  view  are  defective,  unless  one  sees  both 
sides  of  every  question,  and  upholds  both  vehemently. 
Yes,  do  let  us  walk  down  the  terrace.  I  adore  walking. 
Oh,  Suez  Canal,  running  over  the  flower-beds  like  that! 
How  naughty !" 

"Suez  Canal?"  interpolated  Lord  Flintshire,  who, 


32  THE    CHALLONERS 

walking  by  her  side,  looked  like  a  small  rowing-boat 
towed  by  a  brig  in  full  sail. 

"Yes,  don't  you  see  how  dreadfully  long  he  is? 
Now  tell  me  all  about  your  brother  who  dined  here 
last  night.  I  thought  him  too  fascinating,  and  we  had 
a  great  talk  about  somebody  called  Kennet,  I  think  he 
said.  Mr.  Chancellor  is  very  high-church,  is  he  not? 
His  mouth  looked  to  me  high-church.  There  is  some- 
thing perfectly  beautiful  about  high-church  mouths. 
Look  at  Lady  Otterbourne's :  her  mouth  is  exactly  like 
your  brother's.  So  is  the  Bishop  of  Tavistock's,  whom 
I  adore.  He  plays  the  flute  divinely,  looking  funnier 
than  anything  I  ever  saw — so  funny  that  I  never  want 
to  laugh.  Somehow  a  bishop  playing  on  a  flute — or 
do  I  mean  low-church?  I  think  I  must  mean  low- 
church.  And  so  your  brother  is  Martin's  father.  I 
sent  a  message  by  him  last  night  to  tell  Martin  to 
come  and  see  me  this  afternoofi.  I  completely  lost  my 
heart  to  Martin  last  winter.  It  is  terrible  to  lose  one's 
heart  when  one  is  fifty,  because  one  has  already  lost 
one's  looks,  so  that  it  leaves  one  really  denuded.  Be- 
sides it  seems  so  careless.  That  is  a  chestnut,  I  think. 
But  everything  worth  saying  has  been  said  years  before 
even  I  was  born.     Where  is  Suez?     Naughty!" 

Lady  Sunningdale's  conversation  flowed  in  the  man- 
ner of  a  river  in  flood;  it  flowed  over  everything,  it 
foamed  and  spouted,  and  there  was  always  the  sense — 
never  left  unjustified — that  there  was  plenty  more  to 
come.  It  flowed,  in  fact,  over  so  many  different  sub- 
jects that  her  interlocutor  had  a  practically  limitless 
range  of  topics  from  which  to  select  the  matter  of  his 
reply ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  could  fly  off  on  any  tan- 
gent of  his   own   without   initiating  incongruity,    or, 


THE    CHALLONERS  33 

again,  he  could  be  silent,  completely  confident  that 
Lady  Sunningdale  would  go  on.  But  the  last  topic 
suited  Lord  Flintshire  very  well. 

"  Do  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Martin,"  he  said. 

''  But  too  fascinating  and  a  genius.  That  combina- 
tion is  so  rare;  geniuses  are  usually  quite  unpresent- 
able. He  was  staying  with  us  at  Easter,  and  I  used  to 
borrow  him,  as  one  borrows  a  book  and  tries  to  forget  to 
return  it.  Where  is  Sahara  ?  Will  you  whistle  again, 
please.  And  his  playing — well,  merely  sublime.  He 
can  even  play  Wagner  on  the  piano.  Orchestral  music 
on  the  piano  is  generally  detestable,  but  Martin — I 
used  to  tell  him  I  believed  he  had  instruments  con- 
cealed about  his  person.  He  is  quite  clever  enough  to. 
My  dear,  you  can  hear  the  strings.  Then  he  used  to 
draw  me  caricatures  of  all  the  extremely  tiresome  peo- 
ple who  were  in  the  house.  And  his  mimicry!  Sun- 
ningdale finding  fault  with  the  soup,  and  me  telling 
him  he  was  a  gross  feeder.  My  dear  Flint,  I  could 
have  sworn  it  was  us.  You  know  the  charming  way 
we  behave  at  dinner.  Frank  Yorkshire,  too, — you 
would  have  thought  that  nobody  could  have  imitated 
Frank.  But  Martin — '  Beauty  is  probably  evil  in  its 
origin,  which  accounts  for  the  extreme  plainness  of 
good  people!'  Simply  too  killing.  I  suppose  your 
low-church  brother  doesn't  approve  of  him,  or  appre- 
ciate him.  A  slight  frigidity  occurred  when  I  men- 
tioned Martin!" 

"  He  certainly  doesn't  appreciate  all  the  excellencies 
you  have  mentioned.  I  doubt  if  he  really  knows  they 
exist." 

"  That  is  always  the  way,"  said  Lady  Sunningdale, 
with  a  florid  gesture  of  despair.     "  That  very  rare 

3 


34  THE    CHALLONERS 

product,  a  natural  artistic  genius,  always  makes  its  way- 
ward appearance  in  utterly  uncongenial  places.  1  am 
bound  to  say  it  usually  leaves  them  before  long;  but 
what  a  waste  of  time!  Dear  Flints,  don't  walk  quite 
so  fast.  I  had  no  idea  this  terrace  was  so  interminable. 
We  shall  be  miles  from  the  house  when  we  reach  the 
end.  Where  are  my  angels?  But  it  really  is  a  pity. 
And  I  suppose  his  father  will  make  a  curate  or  a  Greek 
scholar  of  him." 

"  That  is  just  what  he  is  afraid  he  will  not  do.  He 
was  talking  to  me  about  it  last  night." 

Lady  Sunningdale's  attention  suddenly  and  com- 
pletely wandered. 

"  You  should  build  a  pergola  here.  Flints,"  she  said. 
"  There  is  a  pergola  at  Frank  Yorkshire's  villa  in 
Capri,  which  is  the  most  divine  thing  I  ever  saw,  cov- 
ered with  roses.  We  used  to  dine  there,  and  earwigs 
dropped  into  one's  hair,  and  from  the  dark  one  heard 
those  extraordinary  Italian  melodies  from  the  piazza. 
That  is  where  I  should  like  to  live,  to  leave  the  world 
utterly  and  entirely  and  just  exist.  So  unworldly. 
Yes.  My  angels,  they  want  their  dinner,  and  so  does 
their  mamma." 

They  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  terrace,  and  Lady 
Sunningdale  gazed  about  her  with  roving,  abstracted 
eyes.  She  never  did  anything,  even  gaze,  without  her 
thoughts  being  occupied  with  something  totally  dif- 
ferent, and  now  as  she  looked  over  the  great  swelling 
lines  of  downs  which  flowed  and  melted  into  each 
other  like  interlacing  muscles  away  to  the  horizon, 
across  the  hollow  where  the  roofs  and  grey  spires  of 
Winchester  trembled  in  a  haze  of  heat,  her  thoughts 
were  further  away  than  the  horizon  itself. 


THE    CHALLONERS  35 

"  So  affected  of  people  to  pretend  not  to  like  food," 
she  said,  "  or,  if  it  is  genuine,  it  shows  they  are  partly 
imbecile,  lacking  the  sense  of  taste.  Yes,  what  Mar- 
tin wants  is  to  be  chucked  into  an  artistic  milieu  to  see 
w^hat  he  is  really  worth.  And  the  artistic  milieu  is 
exactly  what  he  hasn't  got.  He  is  starving,  he  is 
living  on  himself.  Now,  no  artist  except  the  very 
greatest  artist  can  do  that,  and  even  then  he  dies  very 
quickly.  He  wants  to  be  soaked  and  steeped  in  art. 
Paris,  now !  There  is  the  artistic  milieu  there ;  but  the 
music  is  generally  atrocious, — nearly  as  bad  as  in  Lon- 
don.    He  could  lunch  at  the  Cafe  Champetre  then." 

"Why  do  you  wish  him  to  do  that?"  asked  Lord 
Flintshire. 

"  Dear  Flints,  because  the  cooking  is  so  good.  The 
really  artist  is  a  gourmet  in  everything,  including  food. 
Think  of  the  story  of  Beethoven  and  the  soup.  He 
threw  it  in  the  footman's  face  because  it  was  cold.  He 
could  not  bear  that  it  should  not  be  hot.  Cold  soup  in 
one's  face — how  horrible ! — and  thrown  by  Beethoven ! 
Even  that  would  not  make  it  pleasant.  Certainly  Mar- 
tin has  the  instincts  of  a  great  artist.  He  has  a  sense 
of  form  in  all  he  does,  which,  I  expect,  means  nothing 
to  your  brother.  Certainly  also  he  has  the  sense  of 
form  in  himself.  My  dear,  he  is  an  absolute  Adonis, 
and  as  slim  as  asparagus,  the  English  kind." 

Lord  Flintshire  laughed. 

"  And  when  do  you  expect  this  paragon  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  After  lunch.  To  let  Martin  go  on  learning  Greek 
and  curacies  is  like  looking  on  at  somebody  being 
slowly  murdered.  Pray  do  as  I  tell  you  and  get  him 
away  from  that  terrible  parsonage.     Why,  the  word 


36  THE    CHALLONERS 

is  enough  to  upset  an  artist.  It  sounds  so  like  par- 
snips." 

"  I  feel  sure  his  father  would  never  consent  to  let 
him  run  free  in  Paris,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  he  has  the  insular  distrust  of  Paris  as  a 
residence  for  the  young." 

"  My  dear  Flints,"  she  said,  with  some  impatience, 
"  if  a  young  man  is  going  to  get  into  messes  and  make 
mudpies,  he  will  make  them  anywhere.  Surely  it  is 
the  least  desirable  thing  in  the  world  that  he  should 
make  them  in  the  parsonage.  Yes.  You  see  your 
brother  has  so  much  character  himself  that  he  doesn't 
seriously  think  that  anybody  else  has  got  any." 

"  I  wish  you  would  say  these  things  to  him,"  said 
Lord  Flintshire. 

"  I  will,  if  I  get  an  opportunity.  But  if  not  Paris, 
London,  Rome,  anywhere.  Take  poor  Martin's  collar 
off,  and  let  him  roll  in  the  grass.  Yes,  let  us  turn. 
Surely  it  is  lunch-time.  But  do  put  up  a  pergola  here 
all  down  the  terrace  and  leave  out  the  earwigs.  My 
angels,  we  are  going  to  our  dinners." 

She  turned,  her  very  high  heels  clicking  on  the  hard 
gravel  of  the  terrace,  and  paused  a  moment. 

"  The  mistake  in  principle  which  your  fascinating 
brother  is  making,"  she  said,  "  lies  in  thinking  that 
every  one  is  cast  in  the  same  mould,  which  is  his  own, 
and  has  to  be  educated  in  the  same  manner.  Whereas 
one  of  the  few  things  of  which  we  can  be  absolutely 
certain  is  that  everybody  is  cast  in  different  moulds. 
What  fools  people  are  really !  Fancy  trying  to  make  a 
scholar  or  a  parson  of  poor  Martin !  Such  a  waste,  too, 
as  well  as  an  impossibility.    Sunningdale  might  as  well 


THE    CHALLONERS  37 

insist  on  my  taking  lessons  in  juggling  or  mathematics. 
Don't  you  hate  conjuring-tricks?  What  is  the  point 
of  cutting  open  a  loaf  of  bread  and  finding  a  globe  of 
gold-fish  inside  it?  Nobody  in  their  senses  could  call 
me  stupid,  but  I  am  morally  incapable  of  adding  up 
three  figures  correctly.  Why?  Simply  because  the 
process  bores  me,  and  I  therefore  do  it  wrong." 

"  That  is  a  fascinating  theory  of  education  for  the 
young." 

"  It  may  or  may  not  be  fascinating,  but  it  is  certainly 
true.  The  point  of  education  is  to  develop  any  taste 
you  may  possess,  not  to  bore  you  with  the  acquisition 
of  knowledge.  Ah,  there  is  Stella  Plympton  coming 
to  meet  us.  She  has  immense  charm,  and  look  at  the 
way  her  head  is  set  on  her  shoulders.  Really,  to  have 
a  neck  is  the  only  thing  that  matters.  A  girl  with  a 
neck  has  only  to  say  '  Good-morning'  for  every  one  to 
exclaim,  '  How  brilliant !'  Whereas  people  like  me, 
with  no  neck,  have  to  talk  from  morning  till  night  at 
the  tops  of  our  voices,  and  wear  ridiculous  hats,  or  else 
every  one  says,  '  Poor  dear,  how  much  she  has  aged, 
and  how  very  dull  and  heavy  she  is.'  Flints,  I  have 
immense  trials.  I  often  wonder  how  I  keep  up  as  I 
do,  and  am  so  frequently  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party. 
Yes.  Every  one  made  in  the  same  mould  indeed ! 
Stella  and  me,  for  instance.  Flints,  you  brother  is  an 
imbecile.  I  don't  propose  to  learn  Greek,  because  he 
can  talk  it  in  his  sleep.  Helen,  too !  Is  she  to  be  kept 
in  that  dreadful  parsonage  all  her  life,  and  see  nobody 
but  district  visitors?  I  think  we  ought  to  take  your 
brother's  family  in  hand.  He  neglects  them  shame- 
fully; he  ought  to  be  prosecuted  for  criminal  neglect. 
A  man  has  a  duty  towards  his  children." 

403802 


38  THE    CHALLONERS 

Lord  Flintshire  laughed. 

"  And  only  last  night  I  was  telling  Sidney  that  his 
sense  of  duty  towards  them  was  too  strong." 

Again  Lady  Sunningdale's  attention  rushed  head- 
long away  with  the  bit  in  its  teeth ;  it  was  so  rapid  that 
one  could  not  say  it  wandered. 

"  The  last  act  of  the  '  Gotterdammerung' !"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  My  dear,  they  gave  it  superbly  the  other 
night;  at  Covent  Garden,  too,  of  all  places, — though 
the  ravens  did  come  in  ten  bars  too  soon,  and  Siegfried 
had  to  throw  them  away.  I  never  slept  for  a  week 
afterwards." 

The  performance  in  question,  therefore,  must  have 
taken  place  at  least  a  week  ago,  for  there  was  no  man- 
ner of  doubt  that  when  Martin  arrived,  an  hour  or  so 
after  lunch.  Lady  Sunningdale  was  snatching  a  brief 
interval  of  much-needed  repose  after  her  sen'night 
vigil  under  the  cedar  on  the  lawm.  The  rest  of  the 
party,  with  the  exception  of  Stella  Plympton,  had 
dispersed  to  spend  the  afternoon  in  what  she  con- 
sidered the  violent  English  fashion ;  that  is  to  say, 
Frank  Yorkshire  and  her  brother  had  gone  to  play  golf. 
Lord  Flintshire  had  taken  Lady  Sunningdale's  daugh- 
ter for  a  ride,  and  Lord  Sunningdale  himself,  who  had 
an  insatiable  mania  for  losing  large  sums  of  money  in 
what  he  euphemistically  called  farming,  had  gone  to 
feel  horses'  legs  and  poke  pigs  in  the  back  with  the 
Scotch  bailiff.  Martin,  in  consequence,  who  had 
walked  over  the  fields  from  the  terrible  parsonage  and 
approached  his  uncle's  house  from  the  garden  side, 
found  an  idyll  of  placidity  occupying  the  stage  below 
the  cedar,  for  a  young  woman  of  about  his  own  age 
was   sitting   with    an   air   of   extreme   content    doing 


THE    CHALLONERS  39 

nothing  whatever,  and  in  a  basket-chair  close  by  was 
Lady  Sunningdale,  recuperating  after  the  "  Gotterdam- 
merung."  Martin  had  formed  a  somewhat  copious 
subject  of  conversation  during  lunch,  and  it  required  no 
particular  exercise  of  ingenuity  on  Stella's  part  to  guess 
who  the  tall,  straw-hatted  figure  was.  From  him 
again  she  looked  at  Lady  Sunningdale's  slumbers,  and 
glancing  back  to  Martin  raised  her  eyebrows,  as  if  to 
ask  what  had  better  be  done.  Then  she  rose  noiselessly 
from  her  chair,  and  beckoning  to  him  with  a  little 
amused,  friendly  gesture,  walked  quietly  away  from 
the  immediate  neighbourhood. 

"  You  must  be  Mr.  Challoner,"  she  said,  holding  out 
her  hand ;  "  and  Lady  Sunningdale,  apparently  ex- 
hausted by  the  prospect  of  your  arrival,  is  snatching  a 
few  moments  of  repose.  What  are  we  to  do,  then? 
Shall  we  wake  her  and  risk  her  immediate  displeasure, 
or  let  her  sleep  and  risk  her  ultimate  displeasure  ?  We 
are  quite  certain  to  decide  wrong." 

Much  as  Martin  liked  Lady  Sunningdale,  his  instant 
and  instinctive  decision  was  not  to  wake  her,  for  an 
enforced  tete-a-tete  with  Stella  had  its  obvious  attrac- 
tions. She  was  nearly  as  tall  as  he,  and  her  dark-grey 
eyes  almost  on  a  level  with  his.  Her  face  was  a  short 
oval,  slightly  and  charmingly  irregular  in  feature,  the 
nose  a  little  tip-tilted,  the  mouth  a  little  full.  This, 
set  on  the  neck,  which,  according  to  Lady  Sunningdale, 
could  supply  the  place  of  intellectual  brilliance,  made 
a  very  good  reason  for  risking  the  ultimate,  not  the 
immediate  displeasure. 

"  My  name  is  Stella  Plympton,  by  the  way,"  the 
girl  went  on.  "  Pray  excuse  my  introducing  so  stupid 
a  topic.     A  person's  name  matters  so  very  little,  does 


40  THE    CHALLONERS 

it  not?  But  sometimes  it  is  inconvenient  not  to  know 
uninteresting  things,  like  names,  and  the  hours  at 
which  trains  leave  stations.  Aren't  you  thirsty  after 
your  walk?  Will  you  not  go  and  forage  for  fluids? 
And  what  are  we  to  do?" 

Martin  looked  at  her  with  his  direct  lucid  gaze. 

"  No  fluid  for  me,  thanks,"  he  said.  "  What  do  you 
advise  ?  One  can't  go  and  say  '  Hi,  Lady  Sunning- 
dale.'  " 

Stella  laughed. 

"I  couldn't,"  she  said;  "but  I  think  you  might,  if 
you  felt  disposed.     She  adores  you,  you  know." 

Martin  laughed  also,  flushing  slightly. 

"  I  adore  her,"  he  said.  "  She  makes  me  laugh  all 
the  time.    And  I  love  laughing." 

"  So  do  I,"  she  said.  "  So  please  go  and  say  '  Hi, 
Lady  Sunningdale.'  I'm  sure  it  would  make  me  laugh. 
You  won't?  Then  a  false  and  conventional  code  of 
politeness  dictates  that  I  should  inflict  my  company  on 
you,  though  you  would  probably  rather  be  left  alone. 
Anyhow,  do  not  let  us  grill  here  in  the  sun  like  beef- 
steaks. There  appears  to  be  chairs  in  the  shade  over 
there.  From  there,  too,  we  shall  occupy  a  strategic 
position  in  which  to  observe  Lady  Sunningdale's 
slumbers." 

There  was  a  slightly  sub-acid  flavour  about  this  of 
which  Martin  was  just  conscious.  Stella,  it  seemed, 
was  conscious  of  it  too,  for  she  explained : 

"  I  feel  rather  a  failure  this  afternoon,"  she  said, 
"  for  Lady  Sunningdale  asked  me  to  stop  and  amuse 
her  till  you  came.  The  result  of  my  efforts  to  be  en- 
tertaining, you  can  see!" 

"  Please  amuse  me  instead,"  said  Martin. 


THE    CHALLONERS  41 

"  I  daren't  try,  for  fear  you  should  fall  asleep  too. 
How  is  your  sister?  I  remember  meeting  her  once. 
But,  though  I  have  never  seen  you  before,  I  feel  as  if 
I  knew  you  much  better.  Really  at  lunch  we  talked 
solidly  and  exclusively  about  you.  You  can  do  every- 
thing, they  said,  except  pass  examinations.  That 
seemed  to  me  very  admirable,  for  it  is  notorious,  as 
Lady  Sunningdale  said,  that  any  fool  can  pass  exami- 
nations. She  deduced  from  that  that  you  can't  be  a 
fool." 

Martin  laughed. 

"  I  ought  to  apologize,  then,"  said  he ;  "  though 
really  is  isn't  my  fault  that  I  monopolized  the  conversa- 
tion at  lunch  or  that  I  am  left  on  your  hands  now.  I 
hope  it  wasn't  a  long  lunch." 

"  Ah,  but  isn't  it  the  fault  of  your  character  that 
you  get  talked  about?" 

"  But  not  that  Lady  Sunningdale  goes  to  sleep  after 
lunch.     At  least  I  don't  see  how !" 

Stella  laughed  too. 

"  You  put  it  down  to  mere  lunch?"  she  said.  "  But 
if  one  were  disagreeable  one  might  suggest  that  it  was 
the  conversation  at  lunch,  not  lunch  itself,  that  led  to 
the  desire  for  repose.     How  rude  of  me!" 

Martin  looked  across  to  the  cedar;  he  was  quite 
willing  that  Lady  Sunningdale's  need  for  repose  should 
not  yet  be  satisfied. 

"  But  I  thought  you  settled  that  it  was  your 
efforts  to  amuse  her  that  produced  that  result,"  he 
said. 

The  sound  of  Stella's  laughter  perhaps  roused  Lady 
Sunningdale,  for  she  moved  in  her  chair  and  suddenly 
sat  bolt  upright. 


42  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Ah,  she  is  awake,"  said  Stella.  *'  We  can  pea- 
shoot  each  other  no  longer.     What  a  pity!" 

"  But  that  at  least  is  very  polite  of  you,"  said  Martin, 
rising. 

"  And  that  is  very  modest,"  she  answered.  "  It 
might  have  been  true." 

Shrill,  staccato  cries  came  from  the  cedar  as  the  two 
walked  back  across  the  hot  velvet  of  the  lawn. 

"  Stella  dear,  it  is  too  bad  of  you,"  shrieked  Lady 
Sunningdale.  "  I  send  for  my  own  particular  young 
man  and  you  monopolize  him  all  the  afternoon.  Mar- 
tin, you  perfidious  monster.  What  do  you  mean  by 
flirting  with  Stella  under  my  very  eyes?  Did  I  close 
them  a  moment?  I  think  I  must  have.  Is  it  not  tea- 
time?  Where  is  Sahara?  There  is  a  terrible  black 
dog  of  Flints's.  My  dear,  it  is  too  hot  for  words,  and 
have  you  walked  all  the  way  from  the  terrible  parson- 
age to  see  me  ?  That  is  too  sweet  of  you.  What  have 
you  and  Stella  been  talking  about?  Stella  dearest,  if 
you  would  whistle  three  or  four  times  for  Sahara. 
Martin,  Frank  Yorkshire  is  here.  So  odd,  two  counties 
in  the  same  house  in  another  county.  Is  not  geography 
detestable?  Yes.  I  sat  next  your  father  last  night.  I 
don't  think  I  ever  saw  anybody  so  unlike  as  you  two. 
I  don't  think  that's  grammar.  Stella,  you  went  fast 
asleep,  I  thought,  in  that  chair,  and  when  I  woke  up,  I 
found  it  was  me  in  the  other.  Where  are  the  dogs? 
Martin,  the  '  Gotterdammerung,'  was  too  exquisite! 
Ternina !  Floods,  I  assure  you — I  wept  floods,  and  at 
the  critical  moment  I  tugged  at  my  necklace,  and  it 
broke,  and  a  large  pearl  fell  into  the  trombone  below. 
Why  did  you  not  come  up  to  town,  as  I  told  you,  for  it? 
Not  the  pearl, — do  not  be  so  foolish." 


THE    CHALLONERS  43 

Her  slumber  had  slightly  dishevelled  Lady  Sunning- 
dale,  and  as  she  poured  forth  this  surprising  nonsense 
she  effected  various  small  repairs  and  generally  made 
the  crooked  straight.  Sahara,  the  delinquent  dachs- 
hund, recalled  by  shrill  whistling  from  Stella,  wad- 
dled pathetically  up  to  her,  and  a  violent  wagging  of 
heliotrope  in  a  flower-bed  near  probably  indicated  the 
locality  of  Suez  Canal. 

"  And  we  are  going  to  send  you  to  London  or  Paris 
or  Rome,  Martin,"  she  continued.  "  And  we  don't 
quite  know  which.  Tell  me,  is  your  father  naturally 
solemn,  or  is  his  solemnity  beautifully  assumed.  I 
don't  think  any  one  could  really  be  as  solemn  as  he  ap- 
pears to  be.  He  sat  next  me  at  dinner  last  night 
and  was  quite  fascinating.  I  shall  have  seven  candle- 
sticks on  my  dressing-table  for  the  future,  and  he 
extremely  reserved.  Dear  me,  I  suppose  it  would  have 
been  better  not  to  have  said  that.  But  really  his  at- 
titude about  you  is  ridiculous.  Do  imitate  him.  I  am 
sure  you  can." 

The  corners  of  Martin's  mouth  quivered  slightly. 

"  I  think  I  won't,"  he  said. 

"  You  mean  you  can." 

"  I  think,  perhaps,  I  could,"  said  Martin,  guardedly. 

"  Ah,  do.  Imitate  our  conversation  last  night  about 
matters  of  high-  and  low-church.  Wasn't  it  dreadful  ? 
I  mixed  them  up,  and  I  don't  know  which  is  which 
now.  Why  will  Suez  Canal  always  leap  about  in  gar- 
den-beds when  there  is  the  whole  lawn  ?  Naughty ! 
Martin,  we  have  been  talking  a  great  deal  about  you. 
I  am  rather  bored  with  you.  I  stop  here  over  Sunday, 
and  I  shall  go  to  church  if  your  father  preaches.  I 
think  that  will  give  me  more  influence  with  him.     He 


44  THE    CHALLONERS 

said  he  would  very  likely  come  over  to  tea  to-day, 
I  shall  never  forgive  him  if  he  does  not,  because  I 
w^ant  to  talk  to  him  about  you.  We  are  not  going  to 
let  you  blush  unseen  any  more,  and  waste  your  sweet- 
ness on  the  parsonage  air.  You've  got  to  go  and  work. 
Men  must  work,  though  I  never  saw  the  slightest  need 
for  women  to  weep.  I  haven't  wept  for  years,  except 
the  other  night  at  the  '  Gotterdammerung.'  What  a 
charming  picture  of  domestic  life,  Martin  reading 
Greek  history  at  the  table  and  Mrs.  Martin  sobbing 
violently  in  the  corner !  Yes.  How  I  run  on !  I  sup- 
pose you  really  ought  to  go  to  Germany  and  eat  cherry 
jam  with  your  chicken." 

"  How  horrible!"  said  Stella.     "  Must  one  take  it?" 

"  If  you  want  to  enter  into  the  essential  Teutonic 
spirit  you  must.  You  might  as  well  hope  to  feel  like 
an  Anglo-Saxon  without  being  always  in  a  rage  or 
playing  violent  games  as  try  to  be  German  without 
jam.  How  I  hate  women  who  play  games !  They  are 
nearly  as  odious  as  men  who  don't.  Let  us  go  indoors, 
and  Martin  shall  play  to  us  till  tea-time.  Afterwards 
he  shall  play  till  dinner-time." 

Lady  Sunningdale  surged  slowly  to  her  feet  and 
looked  helplessly  about. 

"Where  are  the  dogs?"  she  said.  "It  is  too  tire- 
some. They  are  sure  to  stray  into  the  woods,  and 
Flints's  horrid  pheasants  will  peck  them.  My  dar- 
lings! Ah,  there  they  are  amid  what  was  once  be- 
gonias. It  looks  more  like  a  battlefield  now.  How 
naughty !     Come  at  once,  all  of  you !" 

There  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  Martin's  piano- 
playing  was  of  a  very  remarkable  order,  and  before  he 
was  half-way  through   Chopin's  first  ballade,  Stella, 


THE    CHALLONERS  45 

who  had  been  accustomed  to  consider  the  piano  as  an 
instrument  for  the  encouragement  of  conversation 
after  dinner,  or  at  the  most  as  the  introduction  to  the 
vocal  part  of  a  concert,  found  herself  sitting  bolt  up- 
right in  her  chair  with  a  strange  tingling  excitement 
spreading  through  her  and  a  heightened  and  quickened 
beating  of  the  blood.  She  was  essentially  unmusical; 
but  something  in  this  was  extraordinarily  arresting; 
her  nerves,  if  not  her  sense  of  melody,  were  at  atten- 
tion. As  for  Lady  Sunningdale,  she  always  gasped 
when  Martin  played,  and  did  so  now. 

"  Too  heavenly,"  she  said  at  the  end.  "  Now  make 
me  miserable.  Play  the  rain  on  the  roof.  Tum,  tum, 
turn,  tum,  don't  you  know.  Yes,  how  clever  of  you  to 
guess." 

It  was  rather  clever,  for  Lady  Sunningdale's  ren- 
dering did  not  really  resemble  any  one  tune  in  the 
world  more  than  any  other. 

Martin  paused  a  moment.  Then  the  slow,  sullen 
drip  of  hot,  steady  rain  on  the  roof  began,  as  it 
sounded  to  a  man  who  was  alone  in  an  alien  land. 
It  fell  with  hopeless  regular  iteration  from  grey  skies, 
then  there  was  the  gurgle  of  some  choked  gutter,  and 
the  collected  water  overflowed  and  was  spilt  with  a 
little  chuckle.  Very  distantly  on  the  horizon  remote 
lightning  winked  and  flickered,  but  there  was  as  yet 
no  sound  of  thunder  in  the  dark  sultriness  of  the 
afternoon,  but  only  the  endless,  monotonous  rhythm  of 
the  dropping  rain.  Then,  faintly  at  first  but  with  slow 
crescendo,  there  was  heard  the  distant  drums  of  thun- 
der, buffeting  and  rumbling  among  the  hills.  Then  all 
at  once  the  rain  grew  heavier;  larger  drops,  as  if  of 
lead,  fell  beating  with  a  resonant  insistance  on  the  roof, 


46  THE    CHALLONERS 

and  the  voice  of  the  storm  grew  angry  and  articulate. 
Suddenly  with  an  appalling  crash  it  burst  immediately 
overhead,  drowning  for  a  moment  the  beat  of  the  rain, 
and  by  the  blaze  of  the  simultaneous  flash  sea,  sky, 
and  the  wave-beaten  rocks  of  Majorca  leapt  into  light. 
Then,  as  thunder  will,  it  drew  away,  and  for  a  time  the 
rain  was  not  so  heavy,  but  again  the  storm  swept  up, 
and  once  more  the  chariots  of  God  crashed  on  their 
way  above  them,  and  the  wild  lantern  of  the  storm 
flared  this  way  and  that,  and  once  more  again  after 
that  stupendous  riot  in  the  skies  the  hot  darkness  was 
punctuated  by  the  dreadful  melancholy  of  the  dripping 
rain.  Then  the  storm  growled  itself  away  into  the  dis- 
tance; a  little  light  came  back  into  the  weeping  skies; 
the  pulse  of  the  rain  grew  fainter,  and  again  a  choked 
gutter  gurgled  and  overflowed.  Suddenly,  through 
some  unconjectured  rift  in  the  clouds,  one  beam  of  the 
sun,  divinely  clear,  shot  down  for  a  moment  on  them 
with  excellent  brightness.  Yet  it  was  only  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  again  the  clouds  drifted  up,  and  the  rain,  which 
for  that  minute  had  ceased,  began  again,  dripping  with 
hopeless  regular  iteration  on  to  the  roof  as  evening 
closed  in,  some  evening  far  away  in  a  land  of  exile  be- 
neath an  alien  sky. 

Effusive  as  she  usually  was,  and  accustomed  to  fill 
any  interval  of  silence  that  might  conceivably  occur 
with  discursive  volubility,  even  Lady  Sunningdale  was 
silent  except  for  an  "  Oh,  Martin,"  which  she  no  more 
than  whispered.  For  there  was  that  in  the  room  which, 
in  spite  of  her  superficial  frivolity  and  the  dragon-fly 
dartings  of  her  mind,  she  knew  and  recognized  and 
adored,  that  the  touch  of  art  which  makes  even  of 
things  that  are  common  and  unclean  gems  and  jewels. 


THE    CHALLONERS  47 

Stella  too  said  nothing,  but  sat  still,  much  more  up- 
right than  her  lolling  wont,  holding  the  arms  of  her 
chair.  From  where  she  sat  she  could  see  Martin's 
profile  cut  with  great  clearness  of  outline  against  a 
brocaded  screen  of  scarlet  and  gold  that  stood  beyond 
the  piano,  and  between  the  music  and  the  musician 
she  was  dumb.  Even  in  the  desultory  accidental  con- 
versation which  she  had  had  with  him  during  the  slum- 
bers of  Lady  Sunningdale  there  had  been  something 
arresting  to  her  in  his  brilliant  boyish  personality,  and 
now  from  his  finger-tips  there  flowed  out,  so  it  seemed 
to  her,  a  personality  just  as  brilliant,  but  either  very 
mature  or  by  the  instinct  of  genius  still  boyish,  but 
clad,  as  it  were,  in  the  purple  of  the  artistic  nature. 
There  was  nothing  amateurish  about  it;  and,  unmusi- 
cal as  she  was,  she  could  not  help  recognising  the 
certainty  of  the  performance. 

For  a  few^  moments  after  the  last  note  had  died  into 
silence  he  sat  silent  also,  with  head  bent  over  the  keys. 
Then  he  looked  up. 

"  Is  that  enough,  Lady  Sunningdale?"   he  asked. 

"  No,  you  angel  from  heaven,  it  is  never  enough !" 
she  cried;  "but  play  something  different — something 
brilliant;  I  should  expire  with  several  hollow  church- 
yard groans  if  you  played  that  again.  It  makes  me 
miserable.  Play  something  virtuoso,  and  let  me  come 
closer,  where  I  can  see  your  hands." 

She  moved  to  a  low  chair  to  the  right  of  the  piano. 

"  Brahms's  '  Paganini  Variations,'  "  he  suggested. 

"  Ah,  yes,  do.    It  makes  me  shriek  with  laughter." 

Then,  with  the  same  absolute  facility  and  certainty, 
with  the  same  cleanness  and  perfection,  suggesting,  in- 
deed, a  slim  poised  figure,  he  took  a  header  into  that 


48  THE    CHALLONEES 

ridiculous  theme.  But  out  of  the  foam  and  bubble 
beneath  his  hands  flowers  grew,  stars  were  scattered, 
and  all  nature  went  mad  with  dancing.  But  when  the 
riot  of  jubilance  was  at  its  height,  a  tall,  severe  figure 
suddenly  appeared  at  the  French  window  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, advanced  very  audibly  on  the  bare  boards, 
and  spoke  sufficiently  loud  to  be  heard. 

"  Ah,  Lady  Sunningdale,"  said  Mr.  Challoner,  "  how 
are  you?  And  Martin  wasting  his  time  at  the  piano, 
as  usual.     How  kind  of  you  to  let  him  play  to  you !" 

Martin  wasted  no  more  time  there;  at  the  noise  of 
interruption,  before  his  brain  had  conjectured  who  it 
was,  his  hands  stopped,  the  eager,  active  vitality  died 
out  of  his  face,  as  when  a  candle  is  blown  out,  and  he 
banged  a  random  chord  in  sheer  rage.  Then,  instan- 
taneously, he  recognized  the  voice,  and  he  rose  quickly 
from  the  music-stool,  trembling. 

'*  Yes,  wasting  my  time,  as  usual,"  he  said,  excitedly, 
the  artist  in  him  suddenly  struck  dead,  leaving  just 
an  angry,  startled  boy.  "  I  must  go  home.  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale. Thank  you  so  much  for  letting  me  play  to 
you,  and  I  hope  I  haven't  bored  you.  Good-bye.  I 
have  a  lot  of  work  to  do." 

He  closed  the  piano  lid  as  he  spoke,  but  it  slipped 
from  his  fingers  and  shut  with  a  bang  that  set  all  the 
strings  jarring. 

"Ah,  how  could  you  interrupt  like  that?"  cried 
Lady  Sunningdale  to  his  father.  "  Yes,  how  are  you, 
Mr.  Challoner  ?  Martin,  pray  begin  it  again.  We  will 
all  sit  quite  quiet  without  stirring  a  finger  or  breathing. 
You  are  superb!" 

His  father  sat  down,  distressed  at  Martin's  rudeness, 
but  honestly  desirous  of  being  sympathetic. 


THE    CHALLONERS  49 

"  Dear  boy,  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  said.  "  Pray,  play 
your  piece." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Martin.     "  I  don't  know  it." 

For  a  moment  father  and  son  looked  at  each  other, 
the  one  with  surprise  and  indignation,  the  other  in 
impetuous  rebellion  and  anger. 

"  Lady  Sunningdale  asks  you  to  play  again  what 
you  were  playing,"  said  his  father,  the  desire  to  be 
sympathetic  vanishing,  the  sternness  deserved  by  this 
deplorable  lack  of  manners  in  Martin  increasing  every 
moment. 

"  It  is  quite  impossible  that  I  should  play  it,"  said 
Martin.     "  I  couldn't  play  a  note  of  it." 

"  You  seemed  to  me  to  know  it,"  said  Mr.  Challoner. 
"  Surely  you  have  played  it  a  hundred  times  at  home." 

Martin  was  really  incapable  in  the  shock  of  this  tran- 
sition from  the  world  which  he  loved  and  in  which  he 
was  at  home  to  this  other  world  of  decent  behaviour. 

"  More  like  a  thousand  times,"  he  said  and  simply, 
and  directly  left  the  room. 

There  was  a  somewhat  awkward  pause.  Mr.  Chal- 
loner was  seriously  angry  with  his  ill-behaved  son; 
Lady  Sunningdale  was  disgusted  at  being  deprived  of 
her  music,  and  Stella,  with  a  natural  eye  for  drama, 
was  immensely  interested.  It  seemed  to  her  there 
might  be  a  good  deal  of  drama  behind  this  little  inci- 
dent. Then,  luckily  perhaps.  Lady  Sunningdale  re- 
membered that  she  was,  so  to  speak  on  a  mission  to 
the  dark  ignorance  of  Mr.  Challoner,  that  savage  in 
matters  of  art,  on  behalf  of  Martin,  and  she  put  her 
disgust  in  her  pocket. 

"  It  was  charming  of  you  to  have  come  over  to  see 
me,"  she  said  to  him,  with  her  easy-natured  charm. 

4 


50  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  Martin  wastes  a  terrible  lot  of  time  at 
the  piano  when  he  should  be  doing  Greek  history. 
Demosthenes !  How  fascinating !  Stella  dearest,  do 
see  what  Suez  Canal  is  doing,  and  slap  him.  And  will 
you  tell  us  when  tea  is  ready  ?  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Chal- 
loner,  Martin  plays  remarkably, — really  remarkably?" 

Stella,  as  she  was  wont  to  do,  strolled  out  through 
the  window  by  which  catastrophe  had  entered,  leaving 
the  two  others  alone. 

"  Yes,  it  is  that  incessant  waste  of  time  that  dis- 
tresses me,"  said  Mr.  Challoner.  "  But  the  piano  at 
the  parsonage  is  so  old  that  he  hardly  cares  to  play 
on  it.  But,  first,  I  must  apologise  to  you,  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale,  for  the  extremely  rude  way  in  which  Martin 
behaved  to  you.  I  promise  you  he  shall  make  his 
apologies  in  person." 

For  a  moment  her  irritation  mastered  her. 

"He  apologise?"  she  cried.  "  It  ought  to  be  you. 
Dear  Mr.  Challoner,  how  rude  I  am !  Pray  forgive  me. 
But  you  don't  know,  you  can't  know,  what  music  is  to 
Martin.  You  don't  know  what  divine,  glorious  mood 
in  him  you  shattered.  It  was  like  throwing  a  brick  at 
an  iridescent  soap-bubble.  I  suppose  Brahms  is  a  name 
to  you  like  Smith  or  Jones." 

Then  she  recalled  diplomacy  again. 

"  So  difficult  to  understand  Brahms,  is  it  not?"  she 
said.  "  That  is  the  fascination  of  it.  But  I  assure 
you  it  is  worth  thinking  over.  Martin  is  wonderful. 
He  has  improved  so  enormously,  too.  He  is  not 
second-rate  or  third-rate,  but  first-rate.  What  have 
you  been  doing  to  him  ?" 

"  You  mean  at  playing  the  piano?"  asked  Mr.  Chal- 
loner, as  if  he  had  said  "  sweeping  a  crossing." 


THE    CHALLONERS  51 

Lady  Sunningdale  longed  for  Sahara  to  bite  him. 

"  Yes,  at  playing  the  piano,"  she  said,  swallowing 
her  irritation  again.  "  He  ought  to  study,  you  know. 
He  is  wasting  his  time,  that  is  quite  true,  but  not  at  the 
piano.  I  am  dreadfully  impertinent,  am  I  not?  But 
Flints  is  an  old  friend  and  Martin  is  his  nephew,  and 
music  is  music,  so  I  feel  it  very  strongly.  Of  course 
it  is  only  natural  that  you,  Mr.  Challoner,  with  your 
earnest  nature  and  your  serious  aims  and  all  that, — 
you  were  too  interesting  last  night,  I  lay  awake  for 
hours  thinking  over  what  you  had  said, — should  con- 
sider poor  Martin  very  frivolous,  but  he  is  an  artist 
to  his  finger-tips.  It  is  his  nature.  Mon  Dieu !  what 
finger-tips,  too !  You  know  he  was  playing,  and  play- 
ing, I  assure  you,  with  consummate  ease  when  you  in- 
terrup — when  you  came  in,  a  thing  that  really  great 
pianists  require  to  practice  for  months!" 

"  You  are  too  kind  to  take  such  an  interest  in  my 
lazy  son,"  said  Mr.  Challoner,  still  very  stiffly, — so 
stiffly,  in  fact,  that  Lady  Sunningdale  looked  hastily  at 
the  fireplace,  thinking  he  must  have  swallowed  the 
tongs. 

"  I  assure  you  it  is  not  kindness  that  prompts  me 
at  all,"  she  said.  "  It  is  mere  justice  and  mere  econ- 
omy. I  am  very  economical.  Ask  Sunningdale.  The 
world  cannot  afford  to  lose  a  talent  like  that.  If  he 
is  like  that  when  he  is  practically  uneducated,  to  what 
may  not  he  grow?  Heaven  knows,  the  world  is  so 
very  stupid  that  we  should  hoard  and  save  every  grain 
of  talent  that  exists.  It  is  like  what  you  so  beautifully 
said  to  me  last  night  about  the  ten  talents  in  a  napkin." 

"  Surely  not,"  said  Mr.  Challoner,  a  faint  smile 
breaking  his  gravity. 


52  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Well,  the  one  talent,  then.  I  have  no  head  for 
numbers.  And  poor  Martin's  talent  seems  to  me  to  be 
put  in  a  very  damp  napkin,  except  now  and  then  when 
somebody  like  me  lifts  up  a  corner  of  it  and  lets  the 
sparkle  of  gold  appear." 

It  happened  very  rarely  that  Lady  Sunningdale  was 
stirred  into  such  coherence  and  earnestness.  As  a  rule, 
her  multifarious  little  interests  were  like  children  play- 
ing "  King  of  the  Castle,"  rapidly  pulling  each  other 
down  from  their  momentary  pre-eminence,  first  one 
and  then  another  perching  precariously  on  the  summit 
But  certainly  the  most  long-lived  "  King"  there  was 
music,  and  Martin's  future,  with  the  rain-storm  of 
Chopin  and  the  mad  frolic  of  Brahms  still  in  her  ears, 
was  very  securely  throned. 

"  Think  me  impertinent,  my  dear  Mr.  Challoner," 
she  went  on.  "  Think  me  what  you  will,  only  do  give 
your  most  serious  attention  to  what  I  say.  Martin  de- 
voting his  fingers,  his  brain,  the  power  of  his  extraor- 
dinary artistic  nature  to  ancient  history  is  a  thing  to 
make  Julius  Csesar  weep.  The  pity  of  it  when  he 
might  be  starting  us  all  on  a  new  chapter  in  music! 
Really  I  believe  that  to  be  possible.  And  really  I  am 
in  earnest ;  and  when,  as  I  hope,  you  know  me  better, 
and  see  how  completely  scatter-brained  I  usually  am, 
you  will  appreciate  how  deeply  I  feel  this." 

"  You  mean  that  my  son  should  devote  the  most 
useful,  the  most  active  years  of  his  life  to  playing  the 
piano?"  he  asked. 

"Playing  the  piano?"  she  cried,  feeling  it  was  al- 
most hopeless  to  try  to  make  him  understand.  "  That 
is,  of  course,  a  thread  in  the  golden  garment  of  music ; 
but  to  take  piano-playing  as  synonymous  with  music 


THE    CHALLONERS  53 

would  be  the  same  as  calling  the  baptism  of  those 
of  riper  years  the  same  thing  as  Christianity.  Music 
— music,  that  must  be  his  life.  Flints  told  me  this 
morning  that  you  found  him  slack,  lazy.  So  would 
you  be  if  you  had  to  learn  scales,  just  as  he  may  be — 
I  am  sure  he  is — at  classical  studies." 

"What  do  you  propose,  then?"  he  asked,  inwardly 
rather  rebelling  at  the  consideration  he  felt  somehow 
forced  to  give  to  her  eagerness.  For,  in  spite  of  her 
discursiveness,  it  was  clearly  impossible  not  to  recog- 
nise the  surprising  quickness  and  intuition  of  her  men- 
tal processes. 

"  Why,  just  what  I  have  been  telling  you.  First  let 
him  throw  his  dictionaries  and  histories  into  the 
fire." 

"  I  have  an  immense,  a  vital  belief  in  the  educating 
power  of  the  classics,"  said  Mr.  Challoner. 

"For  everybody?  You  cannot  mean  it!  Can  you 
tell  from  looking  at  a  picture  if  the  artist  knew  Latin? 
Or  pick  me  a  piece  of  Greek  out  of  '  Tristan  und  Isolde.' 
In  any  case,  Martin  has  spent  some  ten  years  at  them, 
he  tells  me,  and  what  is  the  result?  He  fails  to  pass 
his  examinations.  Whether  they  are  a  criterion  of  edu- 
cation, or  whether  they  are  an  instrument,  he  or  they 
have  failed.  He  is  second-rate  at  that,  third-rate, — it 
is  all  one.  There  is  first-rate,  and — the  rest  of  the 
world.  What  is  the  good  of  turning  another  second- 
rate  person  into  the  sheepfold  of  the  second-rate,  par- 
ticularly when  on  other  lines  that  person  has  all  the 
appearance,  anyhow,  of  being  first-rate?  Well,  that 
is  what  I  think.  How  kind  of  you  to  let  me  talk  so. 
Where  are  my  angels?    Is  it  not  tea-time?" 

Lady  Sunningdale's  unparalleled  effort  in  concen- 


54  THE    CHALLONERS 

tration  of  thought  here  broke  completely  down,  and  a 
whole  tribe  of  clamouring  competitors  invaded  the  cas- 
tle of  her  mind,  dethroning  the  "  King." 

"  Yes,  Martin  really  was  playing  too  divinely,"  was 
the  "  King's"  expiring  cry.  "  So  like  a  great  artist, 
too,  to  bang  down  the  piano  lid  when  he  was  inter- 
rupted. Beethoven  did  it  too,  you  know,  and  shouted, 
'  I  play  no  more  to  such  swine.'  So  delicious  of  him. 
And  Helen,  how  is  she?  You  must  bring  her  over. 
Frank  Yorkshire  is  dying,  if  not  dead,  to  see  her.  He 
is  one  of  those  people,  you  know,  who  does  nothing 
and  appreciates  so  much.  So  infinitely  better  than 
doing  a  great  deal  rather  badly,  and  not  recognizing 
the  first-rate  when  you  see  it.  And  are  you  going  to 
preach  on  Sunday?  I  should  have  been  so  happy  if  I 
had  been  a  man,  to  have  lived  in  a  country-place  like 
this  and  just  spend  my  days  in  doing  a  little  good 
among  these  simple  people.  How  beautiful  it  must  be ! 
I  abhor  London, — so  shallow.  Yes.  You  really  must 
preach  on  Sunday,  Mr.  Challoner;  otherwise  I  shall 
stay  at  home  and  read  improper  novels.  You  would 
not  like  to  have  that  on  your  conscience,  would  you? 
People  are  growing  terribly  slack  about  Sunday,  are 
they  not?  Yes,  shall  we  try  to  find  some  tea?  Talk- 
ing makes  one  so  hungry." 


CHAPTER    III 

Mr.  Challoner  was  seated  at  the  very  orderly 
table  in  his  study,  on  which,  neatly  corrected,  revised, 
and  arranged,  were  the  sheets  of  his  sermon  for  the 
next  Sunday.  In  front  of  him,  with  his  face  towards 
the  window,  stood  Martin.  Neither  father  nor  son 
wore  a  very  pleasant  expression :  Martin  looked  like 
some  timid  wild  animal,  at  bay  in  a  corner,  frightened 
into  a  sort  of  desperation,  while  his  father's  thick, 
bushy  eyebrows  were  contracted  into  a  very  heavy 
frown  and  his  mouth  was  tightly  compressed,  as  if  he 
were  holding  back  with  difficulty  some  impulse  of  anger 
that  nearly  mastered  him. 

"  I  was  ashamed  of  you,"  he  said;  "  I  was  ashamed 
that  a  son  of  mine  could  behave  with  such  abominable 
rudeness  to  Lady  Sunningdale  and  me.  A  few  years 
ago,  when  such  behaviour  would  have  been  more  ex- 
cusable, because  you  were  younger,  I  should  have  given 
you  a  whipping!" 

"  I  am  sure  you  would,"  said  Martin, 

Mr.  Challoner's  face  grew  a  shade  paler. 

"  Martin,  I  wish  you  to  understand  once  and  for 
all,"  he  said,  "  that  I  will  be  treated  by  you  both  in 
public  and  in  private  with  ordinary  respect  and  cour- 
tesy." 

"  I  have  already  told  you  I  was  sorry  I  was  rude 
to  you,"  said  Martin,  speaking  very  quickly  and  in- 
cisively, with  an  odd  little  tremor  of  angry  fright  in 
his  voice. 

55 


56  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  You  have  often  told  me  you  were  sorry  lately," 
said  his  father,  "  and  almost  before  the  words  were 
out  of  your  mouth  I  have  had  occasion  to  find  fault 
with  you  for  something  else." 

Martin  gave  a  short,  mirthless  laugh. 

"  That  is  quite  true,"  he  said;  "  I  can't  do  right,  it 
appears." 

Mr.  Challoner  paused  a  moment;  Martin  had  never 
before  come  to  open  words  with  him  like  this. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  speaking  to  me  like  that?" 
he  asked,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  I  have  asked  you  a  question,  Martin,"  he  said,  his 
voice  rising  suddenly. 

Martin  pushed  back  his  hair  with  a  hopeless  gesture. 

"  What  answer  do  you  expect  me  to  give?"  he  asked, 
impatiently.  "  There  is  no  answer  to  such  a  question. 
You  get  angry  with  me  and  you  frighten  me.  I  think 
you  do  it  on  purpose.  You  have  frightened  me  into 
silence  all  my  life,  now  you  have  frightened  me  at  last 
into  answering  you.  I  hate  anger;  it  makes  me  sick. 
And  you  have  been  angry  with  me  every  day  since  I 
came  home  for  my  holidays." 

He  sat  down  on  a  chair  behind  him  with  a  sort  of 
dull,  indifferent  acquiescence  in  whatever  might  hap- 
pen, his  face  sullen,  frightened,  joyless.  It  seemed  as 
if  it  could  scarcely  be  the  same  radiant  boy  who  had 
played  Brahms  an  hour  ago. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  all  the  imprisoned  longing 
for  love  in  the  father  beat  dismally  at  its  bars,  for  he 
felt,  and  felt  truly,  that  just  now  Martin  almost  hated 
him.  It  seemed  terribly  hard  that  his  own  daily  and 
constant  desire  that  Martin  should  grow  up  a  useful 


THE    CHALLONERS  57 

God-fearing  man,  industrious  and  earnest,  should  be 
the  bar  that  separated  them,  yet  so  he  knew  it  to  be. 
Had  he  been  a  weak,  indulgent  father,  one  who  had 
not  implanted  in  him  the  unbending,  ineradicable  sense 
of  his  duty  towards  the  son  whom  God  had  given  him, 
how  sweet  might  have  been  the  human  relations  be- 
tween them.  His  love  for  his  son  was  the  very  reason 
why  he  corrected  him, — that  and  the  duty  attached  to 
his  own  fatherhood ;  and  when  he  saw  him  slack,  lazy, 
or  as  now  wanting  in  courtesy  and  respect,  it  was  still 
from  sheer  duty  that  his  anger  sprang.  And  now  for 
the  first  time  from  Martin's  own  lips  he  heard  the 
effect.  He  frightened  him,  on  purpose,  so  it  appeared. 
Was  this,  then,  one  of  the  hopeless,  incomprehensible 
puzzles  that  God  seems  sometimes  to  set  his  groping 
children,  this  fight  between  duty  and  love,  in  which  one 
must  lose,  and  be  vanquished.  It  seemed  to  him 
cruelly  hard  if  this  was  so. 

Martin  felt  his  mouth  go  suddenly  dry  as  he  spoke, 
but  he  was  past  really  caring  what  might  happen.  His 
father,  he  knew,  was  about  as  angry  with  him  as  he 
could  be,  and  he  himself  hated  and  feared  his  anger  in 
the  instinctive  unreasoning  way  in  which  a  grown  man 
will  fear  something  which  can  really  hurt  him  no 
longer,  but  which  he  feared  in  childhood.  That  vi- 
brating note  was  in  his  father's  voice  which  he  asso- 
ciated with  early  failures  of  his  own  in  Latin  declen- 
sions, and  the  hint  of  what  would  have  happened  to 
him  if  he  had  been  younger  also  carried  him  back  to 
early,  dreadful  scenes.  But  finding  his  father  did  not 
reply,  he  looked  up  at  him,  and  saw  that  the  anger  in 
his  face  had  been  extinguished  like  a  wind-blown  lamp. 
But  all  tenderness,  all  sense  of  being  intimate  with  him 


58  THE    CHALLONERS 

was  so  alien  to  Martin  that  he  did  not  trouble  to  guess 
what  emotion  had  taken  the  place  of  anger.  Anger, 
however,  was  gone,  taking  his  own  fear  with  it,  and 
with  a  certain  mercilessness  characteristic  of  youth,  he 
deliberately,  so  to  speak,  hit  back. 

"  Whatever  I  do,  you  find  fault  with,"  he  said.  "  I 
try  to  please  you,  it  is  no  use.  Would  it  not  be  better 
if  I  went  away?  There  is  no  good  in  my  stopping 
here;  I  don't  suppose  this  sort  of  thing  gives  you  any 
pleasure.  Uncle  Rupert,  I  am  sure,  would  let  me  go 
and  stay  with  him  in  London  next  week  till  the  Long 
Term  begins  at  Cambridge.  That  will  be  in  another 
fortnight.  You  told  me  you  wished  me  to  be  up  there 
all  the  time.  So  would  it  not  be  much  better  if  I  went 
away?" 

His  father  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  sat  fingering  his 
writing  things  with  rather  tremulous  hands. 

"  Are  you  not  happy  at  home?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"  No,"  said  Martin,  shortly. 

The  brevity  and  certainty  of  this  struck  more  deeply 
yet.  If  Martin  a  few  months  before  had  felt  sick  at 
his  father's  anger,  the  latter  was  certainly  the  more 
to  be  pitied  now. 

"  Martin,  what  is  the  matter  between  us?"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  it's  the  same  as  it  has  always 
been,  only  it's  rather  worse.  I  can't  please  you,  I  sup- 
pose, and  you  are  always  down  on  me  for  something. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  it  is  doing  some  good,  because  other- 
wise it  seems, — well,  rather  unnecessarily  unpleasant. 
First  it  was  my  work,  then  what  I  said  to  Helen,  then 
'  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,'  and  now  this.  To-morrow  it 
will  be  something  else.  There  Is  sure  to  be  something. 
I  daresay  I  don't  understand  you,  and  I  know  you 


THE    CHALLONERS  59 

don't  understand  me.  This  afternoon,  for  instance. 
Oh,  it's  no  use  trying  to  explain,"  he  said. 

"  It  may  be  the  utmost  use.  It  may  make  the 
greatest  difference.  I  only  wish  that  you  had  said  to 
me  years  ago  what  you  are  saying  now.  I  have  tried 
to  be  a  good  father  to  you,  but  sometimes,  often,  I  have 
been  puzzled  as  to  what  to  do.  You  don't  confide  in 
me,  you  don't  tell  me  your  joys  and  pleasures,  and  let 
me  share  them.  I  often  hear  you  laughing  when  I  am 
not  with  you.     But  when  I  am,  not  so  often." 

Martin  half  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  to  say, 
"  There  we  are  again." 

"  That  is  quite  true,"  he  said.  "  But  what  can  I  do 
when  music,  which  to  me  is  the  greatest  joy  and  pleas- 
ure in  life,  seems  to  you  just  a  waste  of  time.  You 
have  often  told  me  so.  You  don't  know  one  bit  what 
it  means  to  me ;  and  as  it  seems  to  you  a  waste  of  time, 
how  can  I  confide  in  you  about  a  thing  you  don't 
really  approve  of  and  of  which,  you  will  pardon  me, 
you  are  absolutely  ignorant?  In  the  middle  of  the 
Brahms,  or  whatever  it  was,  you  come  in  and  inter- 
rupt by  saying  that  I  am  wasting  my  time,  as  usual. 
I  might  as  well  come  in  in  the  middle  of  prayers  and 
say  you  were  wasting — there  I  go  again.  I  am  sorry. 
That  will  show  you  how  hopeless  it  all  is." 

Mr.  Challoner  was  silent  a  moment,  really  too  much 
pained  to  speak.  But  he  was  wise  enough  to  recognise 
that  to  say  anything  just  then  would  be  to  effectually 
stop  the  only  confidence  that  Martin  had  reposed  in 
him  for  years. 

"  Well,  Martin,"  he  said,  after  a  moment. 

"  Ah,  it's  no  use,"  he  said.  "  Even  at  the  very  in- 
stant when  I  am  consciously  trying  to  be  careful,  I 


60  THE    CHALLONERS 

say  something  like  that,  and  you  are  shocked  at  it.  But 
I  meant  it :  it  exactly  expressed  what  I  meant.  Music 
is  to  me  like  that.  You  never  thought  that  possible. 
All  these  years  you  have  been  thinking  that  I  was  very 
fond  of  music — just  that — and  wasted  a  great  deal  of 
time  at  the  piano.  Whereas  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am 
wasting  time  when  I  am  reading  '  Thucydides.'  " 

"  That  is  what  Lady  Sunningdale  said.  She  talked 
to  me  about  it  after  you  went  away.  You  know  her 
well,  do  you  not?" 

"  Yes ;   she  has  been  tremendously  kind  to  me." 

His  father  rose. 

"  You  must  go  now,  dear  lad,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
got  some  work  to  do  before  to-morrow.  And  let  us 
try,  both  of  us,  to  find  more  of  a  friend  in  each  other. 
I  shall  never  have  another  son,  and  you  will  never  have 
another  father.  It  would  be  very  sad,  would  it  not,  if 
we  did  not,  each  of  us,  make  the  best  of  that  relation  ?" 

There  came  into  his  beautiful  brown  eyes  the  shadow 
of  tears,  and  Martin  wondered. 

"  I  will  try,  father,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Challoner  did  not  at  once  begin  the  work  which 
he  wished  to  finish  before  bedtime  when  Martin  left 
him,  but  sat  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  thinking 
very  deeply.  He  was  much  troubled  and  perplexed, 
and  his  future  line  of  action,  usually  so  clear  to  him, 
so  precisely  indicated  by  his  sense  of  duty,  and,  to  do 
him  justice,  so  undeviatingly  followed,  was  now  very 
misty  and  ill  defined.  Hitherto  he  had  never  enter- 
tained any  serious  doubts  that  he  was  not  doing  the 
best  possible  for  Martin,  both  in  always  correcting 
and  admonishing  when  he  seemed  to  be  idle,  even  in 
trifles  where  some  small  carelessness  on  his  part  in- 


THE    CHALLONERS  61 

dicated  the  danger  of  his  falhng  into  slack  or  slovenly 
habits,  and  in  his  convictions  that  school  and  college 
education  in  classical  subjects  was  the  best  possible 
method  of  training  and  developing  his  mind.  He  did 
not  in  the  least  even  now,  with  regard  to  the  latter, 
think  it  certain  that  he  was  mistaken,  but  it  had  been 
brought  home  to  him  very  clearly  in  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours  that  other  people  thought  he  was.  For  his 
brother's  opinion  he  always  felt  a  considerable  respect, 
but  for  Lady  Sunningdale's,  though  he  wondered  at 
it,  he  could  not  help  feeling  more.  A  dozen  times  yes- 
terday at  dinner,  a  dozen  times  more  this  afternoon, 
he  had  asked  himself  how  the  observations  of  a  woman 
who  really  appeared  to  be  scarcely  capable  of  consecu- 
tive orderly  thought  could  be  worth  consideration,  but 
as  often  some  plump  grain  of  solid  sense,  showing 
acuteness  and  perception  amid  the  husks  and  chaff, 
answered  the  question.  He  himself  was  conscious  of 
not  being  quite  at  his  ease  with  her,  but  he  could  not 
help  admiring  her  intense  vitality,  her  speed,  her  busy, 
acute  inquisitiveness.  And  it  was  she  who  hailed  Mar- 
tin, poor,  desultory,  idle  Martin,  as  a  genius. 

Suppose  he  took  their  advice  and  let  his  son  go  free 
into  that  world  of  which  he  himself  knew  so  little,  of 
which,  however,  he  had  so  abundant  a  mistrust,  how 
dangerous  and  hazardous  an  experiment!  Martin, 
with  his  slackness,  his  ineradicable  tendency  to  what 
was  easy  and  pleasant;  Martin,  above  all,  with  this 
apparently  so  great  musical  gift,  unsuspected  by  his 
father,  but  adored  by  others,  was  exactly  the  sort  of 
boy  to  be  petted,  spoiled,  ruined  by  the  careless,  highly- 
coloured  butterflies  which  Mr.  Challoner  believed  to 
dance  there  all  day  in  the  sun.     To  them  music,  paint- 


62  THE    CHALLONERS 

ing,  drama,  the  visible  arts,  were  ends  in  themselves, 
the  object  being  enjoyment,  while  to  him  such  a  doc- 
trine savoured  almost  of  profanity.  To  him  painting, 
sculpture,  music,  were  recreations  which  might  at  in- 
tervals be  innocently  allowed  to  the  earnest  worker, 
but  even  in  such  times  of  refreshment  the  Christian 
would  look  for  something  more,  and  find  in  beauty 
that  which  should  lead  his  thoughts  to  the  Fountain 
and  Creator  of  it.  Such,  however,  was  not  the  view, 
as  he  was  aware,  of  the  world  of  Art  into  which  he 
was  invited  to  let  Martin  plunge;  to  them  music  was 
sweet  sound  and  led  the  soul  nowhere  but  to  music; 
painting  was  line  and  colour ;  sculpture  was  form,  and 
the  end  and  fulfilment  and  consummation  of  it  was 
perfection  of  form  and  the  appreciation  thereof.  About 
this  latter  branch  of  art  he  had  never  been  able  to 
come  to  a  definite  conclusion.  Certainly  studies  in  the 
nude  seemed  to  him  to  be  things  dangerous,  if  not 
inherently  sensual. 

"  All  Art  is  perfectly  useless."  He  remembered 
having  read  that  sentence  in  some  book  of  Martin's 
which  he  had  found  lying  about.  A  rapid  glance  at  it 
on  that  occasion  had  justified  its  confiscation  and  a 
few  words  to  Martin  on  the  subject.  But  that  sentence 
occurred  to  him  again  now,  for  there  in  half  a  line 
was  expressed  tritely  and  unmistakeably  the  exact 
opposite  of  what  he  held  to  be  the  truth.  All  Art, 
he  would  have  said  himself,  that  does  not — apart  from 
the  natural  and  innocent  enjoyment  of  it — raise  and 
elevate  the  soul,  is  not  art  at  all.  As  a  corollary,  the 
highest  form  of  painting  in  his  eyes  was  religious 
painting,  because  it  led  by  a  direct  road  to  its  goal, 
the  highest  form  of  music,  religious  music.    These  two 


THE    CHALLONERS  63 

were  wholly  laudable;  Raphael,  so  to  speak,  shook 
hands  with  missionaries,  and  Handel  took  Luther's 
arm.  But  at  the  other  end  of  the  line  of  artists  came 
those  who,  however  consummate  was  their  art,  treated 
of  themes  which  in  themselves  were  dangerous,  or, 
worst  of  all,  who  by  clothing  sin  in  melodious  and 
beautiful  garb  rendered  it,  even  if  not  attractive,  at 
any  rate  more  venial.  He  himself,  as  has  been  seen, 
was  not  musical ;  but  when  a  few  weeks  ago  he  had 
found  himself  in  London  with  Martin,  and  with  the 
eminently  laudable  desire  of  getting  more  into  sym- 
pathy with  his  son,  had  taken  him  to  see  "  Tannhauser" 
at  the  opera,  the  evening  had  not  been  wholly  a  suc- 
cess, for  the  curtain  had  not  risen  ten  minutes  on 
Venusberg  before  his  incredulous  horror  had  deepened 
into  certainty,  and  he  had  got  swiftly  up  and  peremp- 
torily ordered  Martin  to  leave  also.  And  Wagner  was 
hustled  by  him  into  the  outer  darkness  to  gnash  teeth 
in  company  with  Zola,  George  EHot,  and  Titian. 

Here,  then,  is  stated  in  brief,  so  that  the  real  and 
soul-searching  difficulty  in  his  course  of  action  with 
regard  to  Martin's  future  may  be  better  understood, 
the  attitude  of  Mr.  Challoner  towards  Art.  With  the 
whole  force  of  his  strenuous,  upright  soul  he  believed 
that  one  thing  in  the  world  alone  mattered,  and  that 
art,  science,  knowledge  were  at  the  best  but  by-paths 
that  led  on  to  the  great  high-road  of  the  Gospel.  In 
that  they  contained  many  things  of  beauty  the  worker 
was  allowed  to  wander  in  their  coolnesses  at  times  for 
the  refreshment  of  his  weariness,  but  all  the  beauty 
he  found  there  was  but  the  sign-post  pointing  him 
back  to  the  high-road.  Other  by-paths  were  there  also, 
beautiful  as  these,  if  one  looked  on  the  outward  form 


64  THE    CHALLONERS 

only,  but  instinct  with  danger,  and  of  an  evil  glitter. 
Such  led  through  tangled  gardens  of  vivid  meretri- 
cious gaudiness,  but  if  one  stooped  to  pluck  those 
poisonous  flowers,  they  were  vitriol  to  the  fingers,  and 
the  unnameable  beasts  of  darkness,  coiled  among  the 
leaves,  alert  and  ready  to  spring,  would  fasten  on  the 
hand. 

Martin  had  left  his  father's  presence  that  evening 
with  an  idea  that  was  really  quite  new  to  him.  The 
truism,  in  fact,  that  a  father  loved  his  son  had  sud- 
denly emerged  from  those  dull  ranks  and  taken  its 
place  in  the  far  more  notable  array  of  truths.  For 
the  interview  which  had  begun  in  a  manner  so  dis- 
mally familiar  to  him,  except  that  in  this  case  it  was 
set  one  or  two  octaves  higher  than  usual,  had  ended 
in  a  manner  unexpected  and  unprecedented.  Never 
before  had  he  known,  though  he  had  vaguely  taken 
it  for  granted,  that  his  father  really  cared  for  intimacy 
and  love  in  his  relations  with  himself.  At  any  rate  he 
had  never  seen  the  fact  bare  and  exposed,  for  whenever 
it  had  shewn  itself  it  had  always  been  wrapped  up, 
so  to  speak,  in  the  memory  of  some  rebuke.  But  to- 
night it  had  flashed  on  him ;  he  had  seen  through  these 
coverings,  and  a  heart  of  gold  shone  and  beat  within. 
And  with  the  natural  instinctive  generosity  of  youth 
he  himself  was  quick  to  respond ;  and  though  his 
habitual  reserve  and  shyness  with  his  father  could  not 
at  once  be  dispersed,  so  as  to  allow  him  any  effusive 
rejoinder,  his  response  had  been  very  genuine,  and  his 
resolve,  as  he  left  the  study,  to  explore  and  develop 
the  reef  which  had  suddenly  gleamed  in  what,  to  be 
frank,  he  had  considered  hard  unyielding  rock,  very 
vivid.     With  this  in  his  head,  ready  to  be  matured  by 


THE    CHALLONERS  65 

the  unconscious  processes  of  sleep,  during  which  the 
mind,  though  the  senses  he  dormant,  goes  on  delving 
in  its  difficulties  and  groping  for  light,  he  went  up  to 
bed. 

As  he  undressed,  his  mind  flashed  quickly  backward 
and  forward  through  the  events  of  the  day;  for  a 
moment  a  smile  uncurled  his  lips  as  he  thought  of  some 
extravagance  or  incoherence  of  Lady  Sunningdale's, 
the  next  his  mouth  was  pursed  again  into  a  low  whistle 
of  some  half-dozen  bars  of  a  tune  that  ran  in  his  head. 
That  Brahms, — to  which  had  come  so  fruitful  an  inter- 
ruption,— what  a  delicious  piece  of  boisterous  irrespon- 
sibility !  It  had  infected  Stella  Plympton,  too ;  he  had 
known  that  from  a  glance  at  her  wide  eyes  and  half- 
opened  mouth  when  he  began.  Then  suddenly,  just 
before  the  interruption  came,  she  had  given  one 
heavenly  ripple  of  unconscious  laughter  at  some  sur- 
prising piece  of  virtuosite.  Yes,  she  understood,  un- 
derstood probably  better  than  Lady  Sunningdale,  who 
always  gasped.  The  gasp,  it  is  true,  was  a  great  com- 
pliment to  his  nimble  fingers,  but  it  should  be  as  im- 
possible to  think  of  fingers  or  nimblesness,  when  that 
was  going  on,  as  to  think  about  the  chemical  con- 
stituents of  water  when  one  is  satisfying  a  noble  thirst. 
Then  came  that  dreadful  scene  in  the  study,  with  its 
utterly  unexpected  end.  Well,  he  would  try,  any- 
how. 

The  moon  was  shining  outside  against  the  blind  with 
an  amazing  white  brilliance,  and  as  he  undressed  he 
went  across  to  the  open  window  and  let  the  flood  o£ 
cool  light  shine  in.  It  made  the  yellow  flame  of  his 
bedroom  candle  look  insufferably  vulgar  and  tawdry, 
and  blowing  it  out  he  again  crossed  to  the  window  and 

5 


66  THE    CHALLONERS 

sat  there  while  the  stirring  of  some  fragrant  breeze  sent 
its  soft  ripples  against  his  skin.  As  Lady  Sunningdale 
had  said,  he  was  a  gourmet  in  sensations,  and  the  ex- 
quisiteness  of  the  sleeping  summer  night,  peopled  with 
ivory  lights  and  ebony  shadows,  and  the  great  velvet 
vault  of  the  sky  pricked  by  the  thin,  remote  fires  of 
innumerable  stars  and  lit  by  that  glorious  sexless  flame 
of  the  moon  smote  him  with  a  sudden  pang  of  pleasure. 
Somehow  all  this  must  be  translatable  into  music,  the 
stars  scattered  over  the  sky  were  likely  staccato  notes 
of  strings  across  the  great  tune  of  the  moonshine;  it 
was  the  first  slow  movement  in  the  great  symphony  of 
night  and  day.  At  sunrise  the  scherzo  would  laugh 
and  dance  down  the  breeze  of  morning  with  a  thousand 
quivering  leaves  and  a  million  nodding  flowers,  trees 
waving,  birds  among  the  branches.  Noonday  would 
combine  all  the  powers  of  light  and  air  into  a  third 
movement  of  intolerable  splendour.  .  .  . 

He  got  up  from  where  he  sat,  and  stretched  his  arms 
wide,  as  if  to  embrace  it  all.  Then  half-laughing  at 
himself,  he  dived  into  his  nightshirt,  leaving  the  rest 
of  his  clothes  in  a  heap  on  the  floor,  and,  as  his  custom 
always  was,  laid  his  face  on  his  hand  and  fell  asleep. 

It  was  still  early  when  he  woke,  but  the  sun  was  up, 
and  even  as  he  had  anticipated  before  he  went  to  sleep, 
the  slow  movement  of  the  moon  had  given  place  to  a 
dancing,  rapturous  scherzo.  A  breeze  stirred  with  a 
short  sweeping  rhythm  among  the  trees,  birds  chirped 
in  the  leafy  temples,  and  the  sparkle  of  the  early  sun- 
light gave  an  inimitable  briskness  to  the  young  day. 
Then  with  a  sudden  ebb  in  the  full  tide  of  his  joy  of 
life  came  the  thought  that  it  was  Sunday,  a  day  in 
that  house  neither  of  rest  or  gladness  in  his  view,  but 


THE    CHALLONERS  67 

one  much  taken  up  with  lengthy  unmusical  services,  in 
which  there  was  a  great  deal  of  singing,  with  intervals 
in  which  no  amusement  could  be  indulged  in. 

He  walked  from  his  window  back  to  his  bed  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  still  not  yet  seven,  but 
the  ''  land  of  counterpane"  was  no  longer  desirable 
or  even  possible,  and  putting  on  coat  and  trousers  he 
went  quietly  downstairs  and  out  across  the  lawn  into  the 
fields  beyond,  where  a  bathing-place  had  been  scooped 
out  of  the  river-bed.  Till  breakfast,  at  any  rate, — still 
two  hours  away, — he  need  put  no  restraint  on  the  flood 
of  vitality  and  joy  that  ran  this  morning  in  spate 
through  him  and  this  beautiful  world.  There  were  two 
hours  of  it,  with  the  cool  shock  of  the  racing  water, 
the  caress  of  the  warm  wind,  the  sense  of  being  alone, 
and  young,  and  out-of-doors.  Pagan  it  might  be,  but 
irresistibly  delightful. 

Then  suddenly,  while  still  thrilling  with  these  joys, 
the  mellow  tones  of  the  church-bell  struck  across  the 
staccato  sounds  of  life,  and  all  at  once  the  scene  with 
his  father  the  evening  before  and  his  own  resolve  to 
try  to  please  him  flashed  into  his  mind.  The  bell,  he 
knew,  must  be  for  the  early  celebration  in  the  parish- 
church,  and  he  had  still  twenty  minutes,  enough,  if  he 
was  quick,  in  which  to  dress  in  the  prescribed  Sunday 
garb  (though  why  black  was  suitable  to  Sunday  he 
had  long  given  up  trying  to  guess,  leaving  it  to  rot 
away  among  the  unconjecturable  riddles  of  life),  and, 
a  thing  which  pleased  his  father  so  intensely,  play  the 
hymn  on  the  melancholy  one-manualled  organ,  the 
curious  quavering  tones  of  which  formed  so  remark- 
able a  contrast  to  the  nasal  notes  of  village  voices.  So 
with  something  of  a  sigh  for  his  renunciation  of  the 


68  THE    CHALLONERS 

river-bank,  he  hurried  back  home,  and  before  the  bell 
had  ceased  ringing  passed  through  the  church-yard 
where  yew-trees  of  noble  growth  looked  down  upon 
the  horrors  of  the  modern  stone-mason  with  his 
"  chaste"  designs  and  "  handsome"  crosses  into  the 
grey,  cool  church. 

To  judge  by  the  interior  it  is  probable  that  the 
mouth  which  Lady  Sunningdale  so  much  admired  in 
the  vicar  and  the  Bishop  of  Tavistock  was  a  low- 
church  mouth,  for  Mr.  Challoner  at  any  rate  did  not 
attempt  to  make  any  appeal  to  the  souls  of  his  parish- 
ioners by  means  of  the  senses.  Two  brass  flower-vases, 
of  that  curiously  feeble  design  that  somehow  suggests 
at  once  low-church  ecclesiasticism,  stood  on  the  altar, 
over  which  a  flood  of  mauve  and  magenta  light 
poured  in  through  misshapen  figures  of  apostles  and 
prophets  in  the  east  window.  In  one  transept  stood 
the  organ  to  which  Martin  directed  his  steps,  the  pipes 
of  which,  framed  in  a  wooden  border  ornamented  with 
fretsaw  work,  were  painted  white  with  a  scroll  of  red 
pattern  in  line  embellishing  their  top  ends.  Behind 
the  organ-bench  was  a  red  plush  curtain  with  golden 
fleurs-de-lys  stamped  on  it,  to  screen  the  person  of  the 
organist  from  the  eyes  of  the  congregation.  The  seats 
for  the  people,  who  were  thinly  scattered  over  the 
church,  were  faced  eastwards,  and  were  made  of  shiny, 
varnished  pitch-pine,  while  the  floor  of  the  aisles  and 
accesses  was  tiled  with  a  cheerful  ecclesiastical  pattern 
in  violent  blue  and  Indian  red,  and  pierced  here  and 
there  with  gratings  of  cast-iron  work  through  which, 
in  winter,  came  the  hot,  stale  blasts  from  the  warming 
apparatus.  A  black  iron  stove  stood  near  the  font  at 
the  west  end  of  the  church,  and  rows  of  somewhat 


THE    CHALLONERS  69 

dilapidated  rush-bottomed  chairs  denoted  the  place 
allotted  to  the  school-children. 

To  Martin,  who  for  the  last  two  months  had  been 
accustomed  to  the  grey  dimness  and  carved  spacious- 
ness of  King's  Chapel,  the  first  sight  of  these  staring 
crudenesses  came  with  a  shock  of  almost  physical  re- 
pulsion. Why  had  it  been  done?  What  did  it  all 
mean?  What  emotions  were  the  ill-coloured,  badly 
designed  windows  intended  to  arouse  or  what  was  the 
affinity  between  pitch-pine  and  worship?  Impression- 
able and  impatient  as  he  always  was,  he  nearly  turned 
back  after  he  had  opened  the  door  and  was  confronted 
by  this  half-forgotten  tawdry  brilliance.  Then  the  mo- 
tive which  had  made  him  forsake  the  cool  riverside,  the 
desire  to  please  his  father,  prevailed. 

The  organ  was  blown  by  a  small  boy  with  a  highly 
polished  face,  who  stood  directly  by  the  player's  left- 
hand,  and,  since  the  bellows  were  not  powerful  enough 
to  supply  the  lungs  of  the  organ,  unless  plied  by  an 
energetic  arm,  was  often  blown  too,  and  breathed 
heavily  into  the  organist's  ear.  It  was  still  a  few 
minutes  to  eight  when  Martin  came  in,  and  found  the 
village  school-master  preparing  to  begin  that  series  of 
somewhat  elementary  harmonies  to  which  is  given  the 
vague  title  of  a  "  voluntary."  But  he  slid  quickly  off 
the  seat  with  a  smile  of  welcome  to  the  other,  and  in  a 
searching  whisper  told  him  what  the  hymns  were  going 
to  be,  and  what  "  Kyrie"  would  be  sung  between  the 
commandments.  This  later  information  was  given  with 
a  self-depreciatory  blush,  for  Mr.  Milton  was  not  at  all 
mute  and  inglorious,  but  composed  chants  and  hymn- 
tunes  with  so  many  accidentals  that  the  choir  quailed 
before  them,  and  garnished  them  with  accidents. 


70  THE    CHALLONERS 

Martin  glanced  at  the  organ-stops :  there  were 
"  Bourdon"  (which  sounded  as  if  you  were  playing 
pedals  when  you  were  not,  and  was  much  in  request), 
"Open  Diapason,"  "Flute,"  "Cor  Anglais,"  and  a 
few  others  of  more  doubtful  import.  He  added 
"  Tremolo"  to  certain  other  soft  stops,  in  curiosity  as 
to  what  it  meant,  and  began  the  first  bar  of  the  prelude 
to  "  Lohengrin."  But  as  "  Tremolo"  seemed  to  convert 
other  sounds  into  a  distant  bleating  of  sheep,  he  hastily 
put  it  in.  Five  minutes  later  the  vestry-door  in  the 
transept  opposite  opened  and  the  curate,  followed  by  his 
father,  came  out.  Mr.  Challoner  looked  up  as  he  en- 
tered, saw  Martin's  head  above  the  curtains  of  the 
organ,  and  a  sudden  warm  tide  of  thankfulness  and 
love  glowed  in  his  heart.  Surely  the  dear  lad  could  not 
go  very  far  wrong,  if  he  sought  strength  here. 

The  worshippers  were  but  few,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  Martin  was  out  in  the  sunshine  again,  but  with 
all  the  joy  and  exhilaration  of  the  earlier  hour  by  the 
river  driven  out  of  him.  Like  most  very  emotional  peo- 
ple, religion  was  as  essential  to  him  as  breathing,  but  in 
him  it  was  a  natural,  child-like  religion  that  springs 
primarily  from  the  huge  enjoyment  of  the  beautiful 
things  in  this  world,  for  which  he  had  to  thank  some- 
body. And  though  it  would  be  impossible  to  say  that 
it  was  not  real  to  him,  yet  a  London  fog,  so  to  speak, 
would  make  a  pagan  of  him  for  the  time  being.  And 
now,  though  he  did  believe  in  the  truth  and  reality 
of  the  service  in  which  he  had  taken  part,  the  deadly 
ugliness  of  the  church,  the  melancholy  voices,  Mr.  Mil- 
ton's "  Kyrie"  ten  times  repeated,  the  intolerable  voices 
singing  absurd  tunes  had  risen  like  a  London  fog  be- 
tween him  and  it.     The  service  had  passed  over  his 


THE    CHALLONERS  71 

head  like  a  flight  of  birds  unseen  in  this  dreadful 
atmosphere,  he  had  heard  only  the  rustle  of  their 
wings.  But  what  he  had  been  conscious  of  with  every 
jarred  fibre  in  his  being  was  the  gross  material  ugli- 
ness of  the  sights  and  sounds  of  this  last  hour.  Why 
should  "  throne"  be  allowed  to  rhyme  with  "  join"  in 
sacred  subjects,  whereas  it  would  be  admissible  in  no 
other  class  of  poetry?  Was  it  because  anything  was 
good  enough  in  a  hymn,  or  because  those  who  were 
responsible  for  the  "  form"  of  English  worship  were 
entirely  without  any  sense  of  "  form"  themselves?  Or 
why  in  church  allow  music  that  would  be  tolerated  no- 
where else?  Or  why  have  windows  in  the  house  of 
God  which  for  colouring  and  design  could  only  be 
paralleled  in  the  worst  type  of  suburban  villa?  Pitch- 
pine  seats,  tiles  again  only  to  be  found  in  the  fire- 
places of  villas  and  the  aisles  of  churches !  Often  be- 
fore, though  never  perhaps  so  vividly,  had  the  ugliness 
of  Protestantism  struck  him;  often  before,  though 
never  perhaps  so  insistently,  had  his  nature,  wishing  to 
aspire,  demanded  beauty  as  its  ladder.  Most  of  all 
here  was  beauty  necessary,  for  the  sublimest  act  of  all 
was  here  performed,  the  worship  and  praise  of  God, 
the  sacramental  approach  to  him.  Even  as  a  little 
thing,  a  little  rhythmical  noise,  may  utterly  distract  a 
man's  attention  from  a  subject  which  requires  concen- 
tration, so  this  ambient  ugliness  utterly  distracted  Mar- 
tin.    Only  ugliness  was  no  little  thing  to  him. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  his  father,  for  he  fol- 
lowed him  almost  immediately  out  of  the  vestry,  and 
his  face  lit  up  with  extraordinary  pleasure  when  he 
saw  that  Martin  had  waited  for  him.  Here  was  his 
highest   joy:    to   see   his  children   with   him   in   that 


72  THE    CHALLONERS 

divine  act,  and  find  them  caring,  lingering  for  him, 
and  the  consciousness  of  that  compact  the  night  before 
was  as  vividly  present  in  his  mind  as  it  had  been  in 
Martin's  when  he  left  the  delights  of  the  river-bank 
at  the  sound  of  the  church-bell. 

"  Dear  lad,"  he  said,  "  the  first  thing  I  saw  when  I 
came  into  church  was  you,  and  I  was  so  thankful." 

Then  with  the  active  desire  to  get  into  Martin's 
sympathy  he  went  on. 

"  And  what  was  that  beautiful,  exquisite  tune  you 
played  us  before  service  ?" 

Martin  brightened. 

"  Ah,  I  am  glad  you  liked  it,"  he  said,  cordially.  "  Is 
it  not  beautiful?  It  was  Wagner, — the  beginning  of 
the  overture  to  '  Lohengrin.'  " 

Mr.  Challoner's  face  grew  suddenly  grave.  Wagner 
was  identified  with  "  Tannhauser"  to  him. 

"  Certainly  it  was  most  beautiful,"  he  said ;  "  but  do 
you  think  it  is  quite — quite  suitable  to  play  something 
from  an  opera  in  church,  before  the  Holy  Communion, 
too?  One  wants  everything,  is  it  not  so,  to  be  of  the 
highest?" 

Mr.  Milton's  "  Kyrie"  occurred  to  Martin,  but  he 
dismissed  it. 

"  I  don't  see  why  one  shouldn't  play  an  opera  over- 
ture, father,"  he  said.  "  Does  not  the  fact  that  it  is 
beautiful  make  it  suitable?" 

"  But  the  associations  of  it?"  said  his  father, 

"  I  don't  suppose  anybody  knew  what  it  was  except 
me,"  said  Martin.  "  I  am  sorry  if  you  think  I  should 
not  have  played  it.  But  really  I  had  no  time  to  think. 
I  was  nearly  late,  and  on  the  organ  there  was  only  a 
book  of  dreadful  extracts,  chiefly  by  organists.     But  I 


THE    CHALLONERS  73 

will  play  something  definitely  sacred  at  the  eleven 
o'clock  service.  That  is  if  you  would  like  me  to  play 
again." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  lad,  thank  you.  Ah,  what  a 
lovely  morning!  Look  at  the  hills.  'I  will  lift  up 
mine  eyes  to  the  hills.'  How  wonderful  the  apprecia- 
tion of  natural  beauty  in  the  Psalms  is, — '  Sweeter 
also  than  honey,' — so  many  of  David's  similes  are 
drawn  from  ordinary,  every-day  sensations,  but  lifted 
up,  ennobled,  dedicated.  But  how  was  it  you  were 
nearly  late?  I  looked  into  your  room  before  I  started 
for  church  and  found  you  had  already  gone!" 

"  I  went  down  to  bathe,"  said  Martin;  "  in  fact,  it 
was  only  the  bell  beginning  that  reminded  me  there 
was  service  at  eight." 

Mr.  Challoner  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  a  sort 
of  appeal. 

"  But,  dear  Martin,"  he  said,  "  you  did  not  come 
without  preparation?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  did,"  said  Martin,  and  the  joy  of  his 
waking  hours  dropped  utterly  dead,  while  the  hope- 
lessness of  the  compact  of  the  evening  before  rose 
close  in  front  of  him. 

They  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  lawn  before 
going  in,  and  his  father  very  gently,  but  very  firmly 
impressed  on  him  the  positive  sin  of  his  omission.  His 
voice  trembled  with  the  earnestness  of  his  feeling,  for 
to  him  the  danger  of  coming  to  the  Communion  un- 
prepared was  as  vital  as  the  need  for  coming.  He 
hated  to  say  what  he  felt  he  must  say ;  it  was  so  soon 
after  their  compact  to  try  to  understand  one  another, 
to  get  on  without  perpetual  correction  and  admonish- 
ment.    But  this  could  not  be  left  unsaid.     Once  it  oc- 


74  THE    CHALLONEES 

curred  to  Martin  to  tell  him  the  truth,  to  say,  "  I  came 
in  order  to  please  you;  otherwise  I  should  not,"  but 
the  impulse  passed.  There  was  no  need  to  give  his 
father  such  pain  as  that ;  and  he  merely  assented  dully 
where  assent  was  needed,  said,  "  Yes,  I  see,"  at  inter- 
vals, and  gave  the  promise  required.  But  it  was  a 
dreary  beginning  to  the  day. 

The  Chartries  pew,  the  only  family  pew  remaining 
in  the  church,  was  well  attended  at  the  eleven  o'clock 
service,  Lady  Sunningdale  being,  as  usual,  the  brightest 
object  present;  indeed,  among  the  rest  of  the  congre- 
gation she  resembled  a  bird  of  paradise  which  had  by 
mistake  found  its  way  into  a  colony  of  sparrows.  But 
what  this  violation  of  her  habits  in  appearing  so  long 
before  lunch  had  cost  her  none  but  her  maid  knew. 
However,  there  she  was,  and  the  colours  of  the  spec- 
troscope blossomed  together  in  her  hat,  and  in  a  fit  of 
absence  of  mind,  to  which  she  was  prone,  she  as  nearly 
as  possible  put  up  a  pink  sunshade,  forgetting  where 
she  was,  to  shield  her  from  the  sun  which  was  shining 
through  a  mauve-coloured  saint  on  to  the  middle  of 
her  face  in  a  manner  which  she  felt  to  be  aggressive 
and  probably  unbecoming.  So  she  moved  to  behind  the 
shadow  of  a  neighbouring  pillar,  from  where,  looking 
at  the  organ,  she  could  see  who  sat  there. 

"  Too  heavenly,"  she  said  in  a  shrill  whisper  to  Stella 
Plympton.  "  Martin  is  at  the  organ.  I'm  afraid  he 
won't  play  the  Brahms,  though.  What  a  pity  it  is 
not  Good  Friday;  he  would  be  sure  to  give  us  the 
Charfreitag  music." 

That,  however,  was  not  to  be,  and  instead  the 
familiar  strains  of  "  O  Rest  in  the  Lord"  were  the  pre- 
lude to  which  six  choir-boys,  four  choir  men,  including 


THE    CHALLONERS  75 

the  carpenter,  who  in  a  fluty  falsetto  sang  a  steady 
third  below  the  trebles  and  believed  it  to  be  alto,  ad- 
vanced to  their  places.  But  Martin,  in  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale's  opinion,  could  do  no  wrong,  and  again  she 
whispered  shrilly  to  Stella, — 

"  Is  he  not  wonderful  ?  That  tune  is  exactly  like 
the  stained  glass.  It  is  absolutely  the  '  air'  of  the 
place.  Look,  there  is  Helen  Challoner  sitting  with 
the  choir.  Is  she  not  a  dream?  Tell  Frank  to  look 
at  her." 

But  this  was  unnecessary,  as  Frank  Yorkshire  was 
already  looking.  He  was  a  rather  stout,  very  pleasant- 
faced  young  man  of  about  thirty,  with  smooth  flaxen 
hair,  rather  prominent  blue  eyes,  and  an  expression  of 
extraordinary  amiability,  which  his  character  fully  en- 
dorsed. He  was  remarkably  adaptable,  and  while  he 
would  willingly  talk  flippancies  with  Lady  Sunning- 
dale,  his  tenantry  adored  him  for  his  friendliness  and 
his  great  common  sense  if  the  baby  was  ill  or  the  pig 
would  not  put  on  flesh.  In  other  respects  he  was  a 
Baron  of  the  realm,  immensely  wealthy,  and  unmar- 
ried, so  that  he  was  perpetually  drenched  by  showers 
of  eligible  girls,  whom  aspiring  mothers  hurled  at  his 
head.     These  he  returned  with  thanks,  uninjured. 

He  had,  in  fact,  many  pleasant  qualities  and  one 
notable  one,  which  Lady  Sunningdale  had  already  men- 
tioned as  being  characteristic  of  him,  namely,  his  un- 
deviating  pursuit  of  the  first-rate.  It  was  this  which 
turned  a  character  that  would  otherwise  have  been 
rather  materialistic  into  something  of  an  idealist,  and 
supplied  3.  sort  of  religion  to  a  mind  which  otherwise, 
an  extremely  rare  phenomenon,  was  completely  atheis- 
tic, not  with  an  atheism  into  which  he  had  drifted  from 


76  THE    CHALLONERS 

carelessness  or  insouciance,  but  with  one  that  sprang 
from  a  reasoned  and  clear  conviction  that  there  could 
not  possibly  be  any  God  whatever.  On  all  other  mat- 
ters he  had  an  open  mind  and  was  extremely  willing 
to  adopt  any  opinion  that  seemed  to  him  reasonable, 
but  on  this  one  point  he  was  hopelessly  bigoted.  This 
reasonableness  and  willingness  to  be  convinced  had 
led  people  to  suppose  that  he  was  weak.  But  this  was 
not  in  the  least  true,  he  was  only  fair.  Another  quality, 
and  a  fine  one,  was  his  also:  he  was  practically  un- 
acquainted with  fear,  either  physical  or  moral,  and 
would,  had  he  lived  in  those  uncongenial  times,  have 
gone  as  cheerfully  to  the  stake  for  his  entire  absence 
of  religious  beliefs  as  he  would  now  blandly  uphold  his 
abhorrence  of  sport  on  the  ground  of  cruelty  to  animals 
in  a  roomful  of  hunting-men.  His  faculty  of  reverence 
finally,  of  which  he  possessed  a  considerable  measure, 
he  exercised  entirely  over  the  talents  of  other  people, 
on  whatever  line  they  ran.  He  knelt,  for  instance,  at 
the  shrine  of  Lady  Sunningdale's  acute  perceptions,  he 
hung  up  votive  offerings  to  Martin's  music,  he  even,  at 
this  moment,  bowed  the  knee  before  the  village  car- 
penter, whose  talent  for  singing  the  wrong  note  was 
of  that  instinctive  and  unerring  quality  which  ap- 
proaches genius. 

He  was  a  great  friend  of  Martin's.  Helen  he  only 
knew  slightly.  And,  after  service,  desultory  conversa- 
tion in  the  church-yard  ended  in  the  twins  going  back 
to  lunch  at  Chartries.  Though  Mr.  Challoner  was  op- 
posed on  principle  to  anything,  however  remote,  con- 
nected with  festivity  taking  place  on  Sunday,  he  raised 
no  objection,  merely  reminded  Helen  that  her  Sunday- 
school  class  met  at  three.    Lord  Yorkshire,  strolling  by 


THE    CHALLONERS  77 

her,  thought  he  heard  a  nuance  of  impatience  in  her 
assent,  and  his  question  had  a  touch  of  insincerity 
about  it. 

"Don't  you  find  that  charming?"  he  asked.  "I 
think  there  can  be  nothing  so  interesting  as  helping  to 
form  a  child's  mind.  It  is  so  plastic — like  modelling 
clay.    You  can  mould  it  into  any  shape  you  choose !" 

Helen  glanced  quickly  at  him. 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  know  if  I  find  it  charming?" 
she  asked. 

"  Immensely." 

"  I  detest  it.  I  don't  think  they  have  any  minds  to 
mould.  Why  should  one  think  they  have?  But  they 
have  shiny  faces,  and  they  fidget.  And  I  point  out  Ur 
of  the  Chaldees  on  the  map." 

He  laughed. 

"  I  suppose  the  chances  are  in  favour  of  their  not 
having  minds,  as  you  say,"  he  remarked.  "  But  I  had 
to  allow  for  your  delighting  in  it,  when  I  started  the 
subject.  What  do  they  think  about  then?  Do  they 
just  chew  their  way  through  life  like  cows  ?  You  know 
some  people  don't  chew  enough.  I  expect  Martin 
doesn't.  But  that  is  why  he  is  so  extraordinary." 
There  was  intention  in  this,  and  it  succeeded.  Any  one 
who  admired  Martin  had  found  a  short  cut  to  his  sis- 
ter's favour. 

"  Ah,  Martin  never  chews,"  she  said.  "  I  don't 
think  he  ever  thinks;  he  just — just  blazes.  Now,  do 
tell  me,  Lord  Yorkshire,  because  you  know  him  well. 
He  isn't  stupid,  is  he,  because  he  can't  or  doesn't  pass 
examinations?" 

"  He  couldn't  conceivably  be  stupid,  any  more  than 
I  could  be  a  Red  Indian.    But  it  is  by  a  misguided  in- 


78  THE    CHALLONERS 

genuity  that  he  contrives  not  to  pass  examinations.  It 
is  hardly  worth  while  doing  it." 

"  Ah,  do  tell  him  that,"  said  Helen.  "  I  think  you 
have  influence  with  him." 

"  What  on  earth  makes  you  think  that?" 

"  He  quotes  you." 

"Are  you  sure  you  do  not  mean  he  mimics  me? 
He  does  it  to  my  face,  too,  so  why  not  behind  my  back. 
It  is  quite  admirable.  Ah,  I  see  he  has  shown  you  a 
specimen.  Don't  I  talk  wonderfully  like  him  ?  But  in- 
fluence,— one  might  as  well  sit  down  and  think  how  to 
influence  a  flash  of  lightning." 

Helen  considered  this  a  moment. 

"  Well,  there  are  such  things  as  lightning-conduc- 
tors," she  said.  "  Besides,  there  are  times  when  Mar- 
tin isn't  the  least  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  He  is  often 
like  a  stagnant  pool." 

"  I  don't  recognise  that,"  said  Frank. 

"  No,  you  probably  have  never  seen  it." 

They  had  passed  out  of  the  narrow  path  from  the 
church-yard  during  this,  and  their  way  lying  across  the 
open  fields,  Lady  Sunningdale,  as  her  habit  was,  an- 
nexed Frank  as  well  as  Martin. 

"  Dear  Helen,  it  is  too  bad,"  she  said  as  she  manoeu- 
vred. "  You  will  have  to  go  back  immediately  after 
lunch.  What  is  a  Sunday-school  ?  It  sounds  so  beau- 
tiful, like  a  hymn  tune.  Yes,  I  adore  church-music; 
really  there  is  nothing  like  it.  And  it  was  so  wonderful 
of  you  to  play  the  lucubrations  of  Mendelssohn,  Mar- 
tin." 

"  Yes,  I  felt  that,  too,"  said  Frank,  in  his  low,  slow 
voice.  "  There  was  a  stained-glass  window  just  oppo- 
site me  which  was  exactly  like  the  tone-colour  of  Men- 


THE    CHALLONERS  79 

delssohn.  A  figure  which  I  take  to  have  been  a 
prophet,  probably  minor,  in  jewelled  slippers  was  di- 
recting an  enamoured  gaze  towards  a  pink  town, — 
which  may  or  may  not  have  been  the  New  Jerusalem. 
I  always  wonder  where  artists  in  stained-glass  get  their 
botany  from.  Nameless  herbs  enveloped  the  feet  of 
the  minor  prophet." 

Martin  laughed. 

"  I  know  that  window,"  he  said.  "  When  I  was 
little  it  used  to  come  into  my  nightmares.  Now  it 
has  become  a  daymare.  I  don't  know  which  is 
worst." 

Lady  Sunningdale  sighed. 

"  Church  is  very  fatiguing,"  she  said.  "  I  had  quite 
forgotten  how  tiring  it  was.  I  shall  not  go  any  more 
for  a  year  or  two.  Dear  me,  these  tiresome  shoes! 
And  my  darlings  wanted  to  come  with  me.  But  that 
isn't  allowed,  is  it?  It  is  only  in  Scotland  that  dogs 
go  to  church,  I  think.  I  went  to  Scotland  once.  I 
can't  bear  the  Scotch.  They  are  so  plain  and  so  ex- 
tremely truthful.  There  is  nothing  in  the  least  un- 
expected about  them.  Dear  me,  there's  the  other  shoe. 
Yes,  thank  you,  Martin.  And  they  use  a  silly  slang 
instead  of  talking  English.  Martin,  I  had  a  talk  to 
your  father  yesterday  about  you.  I  really  think  I  made 
an  impression." 

"  Telling  the  truth  produces  a  very  marked  type  of 
face,"  said  Frank,  "  and  in  later  life  mutton-chop 
whiskers.  That  is  why  one  always  engages  butlers 
with  mutton-chop  whiskers.  They  are  sure  to  be  re- 
liable. Truth-telling  is  quite  incurable,  and  so  has  a 
certain  claim  to  distinction." 

Martin  listened  to  this  with  something  of  the  air  of  a 


80  THE    CHALLONERS 

parrot  "  taking  notice,"  and  then  turned  to  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  do.  It  seemed  news  to  him  that 
playing  the  piano  could  be  taken  seriously.  And  he 
took  me  seriously.  There  are  my  treasures  come  to 
meet  me.  I  am  so  hungry.  Don't  jump  up,  Suez 
Canal.     My  darlings!" 


CHAPTER    IV 

Helen,  as  Lady  Sunningdale  had  mentioned,  had  to 
start  back  again  for  her  Sunday-school  soon  after  lunch. 
They  had  all  moved  out  under  the  cedar  on  the  lawn, 
and  when  she  arose.  Lord  Yorkshire  also  got  up  and 
offered  himself  as  an  escort.  This  was  perfectly  agree- 
able to  the  girl,  though  she  wondered  exactly  how  high 
Aunt  Clara's  eyebrows  would  rise  if  she  knew  that 
her  niece  might  have  been  found  walking  on  Sunday 
afternoon  with  a  young  man  who  could  not  possibly 
be  brought  under  the  elastic  bonds  of  cousinship.  But 
the  eyebrows  of  Lady  Sunningdale,  who,  it  must  be 
supposed,  was  chaperone,  remained  low  and  level,  and 
the  two  started. 

Frank  had  been  admirably  entertaining  in  his  own 
way  during  lunch,  capping  the  extravagancies  of  Lady 
Sunningdale  with  incongruities  that  rivalled  her  own, 
and  giving  wings  of  epigram  and  paradox  to  his  speech ; 
but  Helen  had  received  a  very  distinct  impression  that 
under  his  flippancy,  which  Martin  imitated  so  faith- 
fully, there  lay  something  of  sterling  and  very  human 
solidity.  And  this  unknown  factor  interested  her  quite 
apart  from  and  much  more  than  his  conversational 
fireworks,  which  were  as  obviously  superficial  to  the 
essential  "  he"  as  his  eyebrow  or  moustache.  Perhaps 
he  also  knew  the  unimportance  of  their  leadings,  for 
certainly,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  such  corusca- 
tions died  slowly  down,  and  it  seemed  to  Helen  that 
a  very  pleasant  mellow  light,  restful  after  fireworks, 
took  its  place. 

6  8i 


82  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  I  think  it  is  unkind  of  you  not  to  admit  me  into 
the  school  itself,"  he  was  saying.  "  Why  am  I  to  be 
debarred  from  the  knowledge  of  Ur  of  the  Chaldees? 
Geography  has  an  enormous  fascination  for  me.  I  can 
pore  for  hours  over  maps  of  countries  which  I  have 
never  seen  and  almost  certainly  shall  never  see,  just 
reading  the  names  of  unheard  of  places  with  gusto." 

"  Ah,  you  feel  that,  too,"  she  said.  "  Martin  always 
tells  me  I  am  a  gypsy.  Certainly  I  want  to  wander, 
to  go  on  just  for  the  sake  of  going  on.  The  explora- 
tion, that  is  the  point.  And  I  think  it  is  the  playing 
at  exploration  that  is  so  fascinating  in  a  map.  Dic- 
tionaries, too, — new  words.  And,  best  of  all,  new 
books  with  new  ideas." 

"  There  is  one  thing  better,"  said  he ;  "I  cap  your 
new  books  with  new  people,  new  ideas." 

The  personal  note  entered,  however  slightly,  into 
this,  and  Helen  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  Ah,  but  new  books  implies  new  people,"  she  said. 
"  Nothing  can  be  more  real  than  the  people  in  some 
books." 

"  Quite  true ;  and  nothing  can  be  less  real  than  some 
people  in  real  life.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean?  One 
wonders  with  some  people  if  there  is  anybody  there. 
My  impression  is  that  there  often  isn't." 

"  I  have  an  aunt "     Helen  began,  and  stopped, 

feeling  that  it  was  not  quite  kind  to  lay  Aunt  Clara  on 
the  dissecting-table. 

Frank  guessed  this. 

"Ah,  I  have  three,"  he  said;  "perhaps  mine  will 
do." 

Helen  laughed,  and,  after  a  moment,  he  went  on : 

"  I  believe  that  curiosity  which  is  a  convenient  ex- 


THE    CHALLONERS  83 

pression  to  sum  up  all  this  passion  for  the  new,"  he 
said,  "  is  quite  modern.  I  don't  think,  at  least,  that 
the  generation  to  which  our  aunts  belong  had  it,  with 
certain  adorable  exceptions,  like  Lady  Sunningdale, 
anything  like  to  the  extent  we  have  it.  What  was 
good  enough  for  our  grandfathers  was  nearly  good 
enough  for  our  fathers.  But  what  was  good  enough 
for  our  fathers  is  not  nearly  good  enough  for  us." 

She  turned  a  quick,  luminous  glance  at  him.  He 
was  talking  about  things  that  very  much  concerned 
her. 

"  Ah,  that  is  interesting,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  Give 
me  more  news  of  that." 

"  It  has  struck  you,  too?"  he  asked. 

"  Your  saying  it  reminds  me  that  I  knew  it  all  the 
time." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  Yes,  I  think  it  is  the  case. 
At  any  rate,  take  yourself,  Martin,  and  me, — all,  I  ex- 
pect, quite  normal  people.  Well,  we  all  want  to  wan- 
der, to  experience  everything.  We  are  probably  not 
really  afraid  of  any  experience  that  could  conceivably 
happen  to  us.  And  we  claim  the  right  to  all  experi- 
ence. We  claim  the  right  to  our  own  individuality,  too. 
It  seems  to  us  quite  certainly  ours ;  the  only  possession 
we  have  which  is  inalienable.  We  may  lose  every- 
thing else,  from  our  character  to  our  teeth,  but  not 
our  individuality.  Do  you  remember  how  Magda 
throws  her  arms  wide,  and  cries,  '  Son  lo !' — '  I  am  I'  ? 
That  somewhat  important  point  had  never  struck  her 
father  or  mother.  Poor  things!  They  thought  she 
was  a  sort  of  them.     Is  that  bad  grammar?" 

Their  way  lay  at  this  point  through  one  of  the  game 
covers,  and  a  sudden  piteous  crying,  dreadfully  human, 


84  THE    CHALLONERS 

arose  from  the  bushes  near  the  path.  Helen  stopped 
with  fright  and  horror  in  her  face. 

"  A  child — is  it  a  child  ?"  she  asked. 

"  No ;  nearly  as  bad  though, — a  hare,"  said  he,  and 
pushed  his  way  through  tangled  bracken  and  brambles 
in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  In  a  moment  he  called 
to  her. 

"  Will  you  come  here,  Miss  Challoner  ?"  he  said. 
"  Come  round  to  the  right :   it  is  a  clearer  path." 

She  followed  his  directions,  and  found  him  kneeling 
a  few  yards  off,  holding  in  both  hands  a  hare  that  was 
caught  by  the  hind-leg  in  a  horrible  jagged-toothed 
trap. 

"  Pull  the  two  sides  of  the  trap  apart,"  he  said,  "  as 
quickly  as  you  can.  Be  quick.  The  poor  brute  is 
struggling  so  I  can  hardly  hold  it." 

His  voice  was  so  changed  that  she  would  hardly 
have  recognised  it.  It  was  no  longer  low  and  cour- 
teous, but  sharp  and  angry.  She  knelt  down  by  him 
and,  exerting  her  full  strength,  did  as  he  bade  her. 
The  leg  was  caught  only  by  the  skin,  and  holding  the 
animal  in  one  hand  he  gently  disimpaled  it  where  the 
iron  teeth  had  clutched.  But  just  as  it  was  free  a  sud- 
den tremor  of  nerves  passed  through  Helen  at  this 
humane  surgery;  the  trap  slipped  from  her  hand, 
and  caught  Frank's  finger  just  at  the  base  of  the  nail. 
He  took  his  breath  quickly  with  the  pain  and  let  go  of 
the  hare,  which,  none  the  worse,  ran  off  up  the  winding 
path  down  which  they  had  come. 

"  I  must  trouble  you  to  open  the  trap  once  more," 
he  said,  the  blood  streaming  from  his  finger.  But  now 
his  voice  was  quite  normal  again. 

"Oh,   I'm  an  absolute  fool,"   cried  Helen.     "Oh, 


THE   CHALLONERS  85 

I'm  so  sorry,"  and  again  she  wrenched  the  trap 
open. 

Frank  was  rather  pale,  but  he  laughed  quite  natur- 
ally. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,"  he  said,  as  she  released  his 
finger.  "  What  strong  hands  you  have.  But  I  should 
dearly  like  to  clap  that  thing  on  the  nose  of  the  brute 
who  set  it.  What  an  infernal  contrivance.  How  can 
men  be  such  butchers!  I  shall  take  it  and  show  it  to 
your  uncle." 

He  shook  the  blood  off  his  finger  and  bound  it 
tightly  round  with  the  handkerchief. 

"  Oh,  Lord  Yorkshire,  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Helen 
again.  "  I  am  an  absolute  born  idiot.  How  could  I 
be  such  a  fool?" 

He  laughed  again. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Challoner,"  he  said,  "  nothing 
whatever  has  happened  which  can  justify  your  violent 
language.  Besides,  it  would  have  been  worth  while  to 
set  that  poor,  jolly  beast  free  at  the  cost  of  real  pain, 
and  not  just  a  finger-scratch.  Well,  we've  vindicated 
the  liberty  of  one  individual  anyhow.  Did  you  see  its 
eyes?    They  said  '  I  am  I,'  like  Magda." 

He  held  the  bushes  back  for  her  to  regain  the 
path. 

"  But  you'll  have  your  finger  attended  to?"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  at  once,  please.  I'll  ask  you  to  tie  it  rather 
tighter,  if  you  don't  mind  the  sight  of  blood.  I  al- 
ways think  blood  is  such  a  beautiful  colour,"  he  chat- 
tered on,  to  prevent  her  apologising  further.  "  One 
talks  of  a  blood-red  sunset  and  admires  it,  and 
dragon's-blood  china ;  but  when  it  comes  to  the  real 
article,  so  many  people  shrink  from  it.     That's  better. 


S6  THE    CHALLONERS 

thanks;  that's  excellent.  I  assure  you  it  is  nothing 
at  all." 

His  manner  was  so  entirely  natural  that  there  was 
nothing  left  for  her  except  to  be  natural  too ;  and  they 
walked  on  out  of  the  cool,  green-shadowed  path,  flecked 
here  and  there  with  the  sunshine  that  filtered  through 
the  trees  that  met  above  them,  into  the  blaze  and  bright- 
ness of  the  fields  that  bordered  the  church-yard. 

"  Yes,  the  cry  of  Magda  for  her  right  to  her  own  in- 
dividuality," he  said.  "  At  last  this  generation  has  said, 
'  I  will  lead  my  own  life,  not  the  life  dictated  to  me  by 
other  people.'     I  wonder  what  we  shall  make  of  it." 

Helen  looked  at  him  again,  eagerly. 

"  And  do  you  mean  that  the  assertion  of  one's  own 
individuality  is  a  duty?"  she  asked. 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  difficult  question.  Certainly,  I  think 
there  are — are  indications  that  one  is  supposed  to  play 
one's  hand  for  all  it's  worth.  But  duty?  Probably 
you  and  I  mean  different  things  by  it." 

"  I  mean  the  will  of  God  for  me,"  she  said,  simply. 

They  paused  at  the  gate  into  the  church-yard,  and 
their  eyes  met.  It  seemed  to  Frank  that  she  waited 
for  his  answer  with  some  eagerness.  And  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that,"  he  said. 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said. 

"  So  am  I,  very  sorry,  indeed.     But  I  can't  help  it." 

Her  eyes  wandered  over  the  woods  behind  him. 
Then  came  back  to  his  face. 

"  No,  I  recognise  that,"  she  said.  "  Good-bye,  Lord 
Yorkshire.  Thank  you  so  much  for  coming  with  me. 
And  please  have  your  finger  attended  to." 


THE   CHALLONERS  87 

She  smiled  at  him  and  went  up  the  church-yard  path 
towards  the  shining  corrugated-iron  Room.  As  she 
passed  the  walk  leading  to  the  vicarage,  she  met  her 
father. 

"  You  are  nearly  ten  minutes  late,  Helen,"  he  said. 

"  I  know,  dear.  I  am  sorry.  But  you  know  you  are 
late,  too." 

He  did  not  smile. 

"  I  was  detained  by  other  parish  work,"  he  said.  "  I 
was  not  amusing  myself.  Pray  do  not  delay  any 
longer." 

The  evening  meal  on  Sunday  at  the  vicarage  was 
of  a  strictly  Sabbatical  order,  and  consisted  of  cold 
things  to  eat  and  no  waiting  on  the  part  of  servants. 
It  took  place  late  after  evening  church  and  had,  to 
Martin's  mind,  a  dreariness  of  its  own,  an  indi- 
viduality (to  which  Frank  would  have  said  it  un- 
doubtedly had  a  right)  which  marked  it  off  from  all 
other  meals.  Every  one  was  fatigued  with  the  exer- 
cises of  the  day,  and  though  they  were  religious 
exercises  which  had  produced  that  fatigue,  it  brought 
with  it  a  tendency  which  made  cheeriness  difficult. 
However,  cheeriness  was  not  a  quality  exactly  en- 
couraged by  Mr.  Challoner  on  Sunday,  so  perhaps  that 
was  all  for  the  good.  But  this  evening,  Martin,  who 
had  spent  the  whole  afternoon  at  his  uncle's,  coming 
back  only  just  before  supper,  was  conscious  of  a  Sun- 
day easily  got  through,  and  was  chattering  on  with  a 
good  deal  of  rather  thoughtless  enjoyment  about  Lady 
Sunningdale,  every  now  and  then  mimicking,  with 
extreme  fidelity,  some  more  than  usually  incoherent 
speech  of  hers  in  which  Wagner,  her  dogs,  South  Italy, 
her  husband,  egg-shell  china,  and  scandal  were  about 


88  THE    CHALLONERS 

equal  ingredients,  without  noticing  a  somewhat  omin- 
ous gravity  that  was  deepening  on  his  father's  face. 

At  length  Mr.  Challoner  spoke,  interrupting  him. 

"  There,  dear  Martin,  is  not  that  enough  ?  It  is 
Sunday  evening,  remember.  Cannot  we  find  some- 
thing rather  more  suitable  to  the  day  to  talk  about? 
And  you  would  scarcely  like  Lady  Sunningdale,  who 
is  so  good  to  you,  to  know  that  you  imitate  her." 

"  Oh,  she  is  always  insisting  that  I  should  do  it  to 
her  face,"  said  Martin.     "  I  often  do.     She  shrieks." 

"  That  is  enough,  I  think,  Martin,"  said  his  father 
again,  mindful  of  their  compact  of  the  evening  before, 
and  determining  to  be  gentle.  "  Have  you  only  just 
come  back?" 

"  Half  an  hour  ago,"  said  Martin,  the  gleam  in  his 
eye  suddenly  quenched,  for  he  knew  what  the  next 
question  must  be. 

"  Then,  you  did  not  go  to  church  this  evening?" 
asked  his  father. 

"  No ;   I  had  been  twice." 

Now,  Mr.  Challoner  had  been  from  church  to  Sun- 
day-school and  from  Sunday-school  to  church  prac- 
tically since  eight  that  morning,  and  it  not  in  the  least 
unreasonable  that  he  should  be  tired  with  so  many 
busy  hours  in  ill-ventilated  places  on  so  hot  a  day. 
The  effect  of  this  tiredness  on  him,  as  on  most  of  us, 
was  shewn  in  a  tendency  to  that  which,  when  it  occurs 
in  children,  their  elders  label  "  crossness."  And  he 
answered  in  a  tone  in  which  that  very  common  emotion 
was  apparent. 

"  I  was  not  asking  you  to  justify  your  absence,"  he 
said,  and  the  meal  proceeded  in  rather  dreary  silence. 

Then  two  small  incidents  happened.    Martin  dropped 


THE    CHALLONERS  89 

a  plate  with  a  hideous  clatter,  and  a  moment  afterwards 
upset  a  wineglass,  which  he  had  just  filled  with  claret, 
all  over  the  table.  He  apologised  and  wiped  it  up,  but, 
unfortunately,  looking  up,  he  saw  his  father's  face 
wearing  such  an  extraordinary  expression  of  true 
Christian  patience  that  for  the  life  of  him  he  could 
not  help  giving  a  sudden  giggle  of  laughter.  He 
could  not  possibly  have  helped  it;  if  he  was  going 
to  be  hung  for  it  he  must  have  laughed. 

Now,  the  laughter  of  other  people  when  we  our- 
selves do  not  see  anything  whatever  in  the  situation  to 
provoke  mirth  is  one  of  the  authentic  trials  of  life, 
especially  if  one  half  suspects,  as  Mr.  Challoner  did 
now,  that  one  is  in  some  manner  inexplicable  to  one's 
self  the  cause  of  it.  It  was  therefore  highly  to  his 
credit  that,  remembering  the  interview  he  had  had 
with  Martin  the  night  before,  he  could  manage  to  keep 
inside  his  lips  the  words  that  tingled  on  his  tongue. 
Of  more  than  that  he  was  incapable;  he  could  not  just 
then  be  genial  or  start  a  subject  of  conversation,  he 
could  only  just  be  silent. 

Martin  could  easily  manage  that;  his  last  observa- 
tion had  not  found  favour,  and  he  held  his  tongue 
and  ate  large  quantities  of  cold  beef.  Helen  sitting 
opposite  her  father,  in  the  absence  of  Aunt  Clara,  who 
was  spending  the  Sunday  away,  had  also  nothing  ap- 
parently which  she  considered  as  suitable,  and  the  meal 
proceeded  in  silence.  Then,  after  a  long  pause,  she 
raised  her  eyes,  which  so  happened  to  catch  Martin's, 
who  was  still  struggling  with  his  unseemly  mirth.  At 
this  moment  also  her  father  looked  up  and  saw  a 
glance  which  he  interpreted  into  a  glance  of  meaning 
pass  between  them,  a  thing  irritating  to  the  most  placid 


90  THE    CHALLONERS 

temperament.  He  saw,  too,  the  corners  of  Martin's 
mouth  twitching.     This  w^as  too  much. 

"  I  will  not  have  that  sort  of  thing,  children,"  he 
said,  his  voice  rising  sharply.  "  It  is  an  extremely 
rude  and  vulgar  thing  to  exchange  glances  like  that." 

Martin's  merriment  was  struck  as  dead  as  beech- 
leaves  in  frost. 

"  I  was  doing  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  said,  his 
temper  flashing  out.  "  Helen  looked  up  at  the  same 
moment  as  I  looked  up.  We  all  three  looked  up,  in 
fact.    It  was  purely  accidental." 

Helen  was  vexed  that  Martin  should  speak  so,  but 
felt  bound  to  endorse  him. 

"  Indeed,  father,  it  is  so,"  she  said. 

Again  the  silence  descended,  and  Martin,  seeing 
that  both  his  father  and  sister  had  finished  their  meat, 
changed  their  plates  and  arranged  the  second  course. 
After  a  very  long  pause  their  father  spoke  again. 

"  I  should  have  thought  my  children  might  have  had 
something  to  say  to  me  in  the  evening  when  they  have 
left  me  alone  all  day,  enjoying  themselves  elsewhere. 
Has  nothing  happened  to  you  since  breakfast  which  I 
am  worthy  of  hearing?" 

Martin's  intolerance  of  this  injustice  again  stung 
him  into  ill-advised  speech. 

"  I  tried  to  tell  you  what  I  have  been  doing,"  he 
said,  "  but  you  stopped  me.  You  said  it  was  unsuit- 
able," and  his  handsome  face  flushed  angrily. 

Then  a  thing  unprecedented  happened. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear  Martin,"  said  his  father. 

Helen  was  engaged  next  morning  in  the  fragrant 
labour  of  picking  sweet-peas,  when  a  maid  came  out  of 


THE    CHALLONERS  91 

the  house  to  say  that  Lord  Yorkshire  was  there.  Her 
father  and  Martin  she  knew  were  both  out,  and  she 
went  in  to  see  him,  conceahng  from  herself  the  quite 
perceptible  thrill  of  pleasure  that  the  announcement  had 
given  her.  She  was,  as  usual,  hatless,  and  her  hair 
was  in  golden  disarray  from  the  breeze,  and  as  she 
went  towards  the  house  she  took  off  her  gardening 
gloves,  trying  by  sundry  pats  and  pokes  to  give  it  some 
semblance  of  order.  She  was  not  very  successful  in 
this,  nor  need  she  have  been,  for  she  looked  to  him  like 
some  beautiful  wild  flower  when  she  entered. 

"  I  ought  to  apologise  for  coming  at  this  unearthly 
hour,"  he  said,  "  for  my  only  excuse  is  that  Martin 
left  a  book  of  music  at  Chartries,  and,  having  an  idle 
morning,  I  thought  I  would  bring  it  over." 

Helen  was  delighted  to  see  him,  and  since  it  would 
have  been  ungracious  to  convey  the  impression  that 
this  morning  visit  was  a  bore,  especially  since  it  was 
not,  she  took  the  straightforward  line. 

"  How  good  of  you,"  she  said.     "  And  the  finger?" 

He  held  up  a  bandaged  hand. 

"  I  am  only  reminded  of  it  by  that,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  so  glad.  Isn't  it  extraordinary  that  any  one 
could  be  so  awkward  as  I  was.  I  am  always  dropping 
and  spilling  things.  Martin  used  to  say,  '  It  is  a  lovely 
day,  let  us  go  and  spill  something.'  But  he  is  much 
worse  than  I  am,  really.  Do  come  and  look  at  the 
garden.     It  is  really  pretty." 

"And  are  you  gardening?"  he  asked,  glancing  at 
the  gloves. 

"  Mildly.  I  am  really  only  picking  sweet-peas.  It 
is  so  nice  of  them — the  more  you  pick  the  more  they 
flower." 


92  THE    CHALLONEES 

She  picked  up  her  basket  as  they  walked  out  and 
held  it  up  to  him. 

"  How  energetic  of  them,"  he  said.  "  Ah,  what  a 
dehcious  smell.  That  reminds  me  of  lots  of  nice 
things.  It  will  now  remind  me  of  one  nice  thing  the 
more.  Smell  is  the  keenest  of  all  the  senses  to  remind 
one  of  things.  Sight  and  hearing  are  not  nearly  so 
intimate.    And  Martin  is  out?" 

"  Yes;  he  went  to  try  and  get  a  fish.  But  there  is 
too  much  sun." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  think  I  am,  too,  really,"  she  said.  "  But  I  do  like 
the  dear  boy  to  be  pleased." 

"  Well,  I  hope  we  are  all  going  to  please  him,"  said 
he.  "  For  the  combined  armies  are  going  to  advance 
and  rescue  him.  Lord  Flintshire,  Lady  Sunningdale, 
and,  in  my  own  humble  manner,  myself,  are  all  going 
to  try  to  get  your  father  to  allow  him  to  study  music  in 
earnest.  In  fact,  I  am  a  sort  of  skirmisher  in  advance 
of  the  heavy — of  the  main  body.  It  is  my  business  to 
bring  on  the  general  engagement  by  asking  him  to 
stay  with  me  in  London,  and  bringing  some  people,  who 
really  know,  to  hear  him  play." 

Helen  turned  a  radiant  face  on  him. 

"  Ah,  that  is  good  of  you,"  she  said ;  "  and  it  is  really 
angelic  of  me  to  feel  that,  as  I  shall  be  left  here  all 
alone." 

"  But  the  scheme  includes  you.  Lady  Sunningdale 
is  writing  to  you  to  ask  you  to  come  up  with  him  and 
stay  with  her  for  a  week  or  two.  I  hope  you  will  say 
'  Yes.'  " 

Helen  gave  a  long  sigh,  as  Moses,  perhaps,  sighed 
on  Pisgah. 


THE    CHALLONERS  93 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  could  manage  it,"  she  said, 
"  though  it  would  be  heavenly.  Perhaps,  as  Aunt 
Clara  comes  back  in  a  day  or  two,  I  could  leave  father. 
But  I  don't  know.    Oh,  I  should  enjoy  it,"  she  cried. 

"  I  expect  you  have  a  very  fine  faculty  for  enjoy- 
ment," said  he. 

Again  the  personal  note  entered,  but  this  time  it  did 
not  make  her  pause. 

"I?  I  should  just  think  I  had.  And  I  love  London 
in  little  raids  like  this,  it  is  so  full  of  charming  things 
to  do.  But  Martin, — it  is  good  of  you.  Lord  York- 
shire. And  do  be  very  good  for  him.  Do  use  your 
influence  with  him.  Do  make  him,  at  any  rate,  work 
hard  to  pass  his  examination  at  Cambridge  first.  It 
would  make  everything  so  much  easier,  so  much  hap- 
pier." 

"  For  him  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  marked  intonation. 

"  Yes,  and  for  all  of  us." 

He  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  That  sounds  worth  while,"  he  said. 

He  let  that  string  vibrate,  as  it  were,  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  passed  on. 

"  But  what  becomes  of  the  liberty  of  the  individual 
which  we  talked  of  yesterday  ?"  he  said.  "  To  in- 
fluence anybody  always  seems  to  me  a  slight  infringe- 
ment of  rights.  One  imposes  one's  personality — such 
as  it  is — on  another." 

"  Ah,  but  in  a  good  cause,  to  show  him  the  stupidity 
of  not  passing  examinations.  Surely,  that  is  a  rule 
absolutely  without  exception,  that  it  is  always  wise  not 
to  be  stupid." 

He  laughed.  Helen,  with  her  direct  vivid  person- 
ality, seemed  to  him  unlike  anybody  else  he  had  ever 


94  THE    CHALLONERS 

seen,  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  her  twin.  The 
extraordinary  and  rather  rare  charm  also  of  perfect 
naturalness,  not  the  assumption  of  it,  was  hers  also. 

"  Well,  it  is  certainly  hard  to  think  of  any  excep- 
tion to  that  rule,"  he  said,  "  though  one  always  dis- 
trusts rules  without  exceptions.  It  seems  so  very  un- 
likely that  they  should  exist,  considering  how  utterly 
different  every  one  person  is  from  every  other.  On 
the  face  of  it,  it  seems  impossible." 

This  had  aroused  another  train  of  thought  in  the 
girl. 

"  Oh,  nothing  would  be  impossible,  if  one  were 
wise,"  she  said.     "  Oh,  I  hate  fools.     And  I  am  one." 

And  she  snipped  viciously  among  the  sweet-peas. 

He  followed  this  with  some  success. 

"Was  the  Sunday-school  very  stupid?"  he  asked, 
sympathetically. 

"  Hideously — quite  hideously.  How  clever  of  you 
to  guess.  It  was  also  extremely  ugly.  I  don't  know 
which  I  dislike  most,  ugliness  or  stupidity.  In  fact, 
they  are  difficult  to  tell  apart.  Yet,  after  all,  beauty  is 
only  skin  deep." 

"  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  the  wonder  of  it?" 
he  asked.  "  That  particular  proverb  seems  to  me  about 
the  silliest.  Why,  the  most  subtle  brain  in  the  world 
is  only  a  few  inches  deep,  and,  as  far  as  measurement 
goes,  it  is  about  the  same  depth  as  the  most  stupid. 
Or  would  you  say  that  the  beauty  of  some  wonderful 
evening  moment  of  a  Corot  was  only  skin  deep,  the 
depth  of  the  paint  on  the  canvas?  Surely  not.  It  has 
all  the  depth  of  beauty  of  the  summer  night.  No,  that 
proverb  is  perfectly  meaningless,  and  was  probably  in- 
vented by  somebody  more  than  usually  plain." 


THE    CHALLONERS  95 

Helen's  basket  of  sweet-peas  was  full,  and  she 
emerged  from  the  fragrant  tangle  of  the  garden-beds 
and  strolled  with  him  up  the  lawn,  her  face  on  flame 
with  what  he  had  called  curiosity.  That  divine  mo- 
ment, when  a  girl  becomes  a  woman,  when  all  she  has 
drunk  in  all  her  life  begins  to  make  products  of  its 
own  had  just  come  to  her.  And  at  this  psychlogical 
moment  he  had  come,  too. 

"  But  surely  one  sees  very  beautiful  people  who  are 
very  dull,  very  stupid,  very  wicked  even,"  she  said.  "  Is 
not  that  what  the  proverb  means,  perhaps,  that  as  far 
as  beauty  itself  goes  it  is  only  a  very  superficial  gift?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Look  at  that  splendid  Gloire  de  Dijon,"  he  said. 
"  It  may  be  very  stupid,  very  dull,  very  wicked,  as  far 
as  we  know.  But  that  does  not  concern  us.  It  is  beau- 
tiful, and  its  beauty  does  not,  anyhow,  touch  us  only 
superficially,  but  very  deeply.  Does  not  beauty  stir  in 
you  some  chord  of  wider  vibration  than  any  purely  in- 
tellectual quality?  Some — how  shall  I  say  it? — some 
longing  for  the  infinite?" 

Again  their  talk  had  taken  the  bit  in  its  teeth,  and 
as  she  gently  fingered  the  rose  he  had  pointed  to,  her 
lips  drew  themselves  into  a  quivering  curve  of  ex- 
traordinary tenderness. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes,"  she  said.  "  I  could  kneel  down  and 
thank  God  for  it." 

He  looked  at  her  gravely,  remembering  the  conclu- 
sion of  their  walk  the  afternoon  before. 

"  You  are  very  much  to  be  envied,"  he  said.  "  With 
my  whole  heart  I  congratulate  you." 

She  raised  her  head,  dismissing  the  gravity  of  the 
last  minute. 


96  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Ah,  but  the  Sunday-school,"  she  said. 

"  But  I  envy  that,  too,"  said  he.  "  It,  as  well  as 
you,  has  its  beaux  jours.  You  would  not  grudge  it 
them?" 

She  laughed. 

"  Ah,  you  have  committed  an  inanity,"  she  said.  "  I 
was  so  afraid  you  were  a  person  who  never  said 
anything  stupid.  But  to  pay  compliments  is  stupid. 
And  now  I  have  been  rude.  That  is  even  more 
stupid." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  he,  "  because  it  is  also  unneces- 
sary." 

There  was  a  further  challenge  in  this,  but  she  did 
not  take  the  glove  he  had  flung,  and  having  reached 
the  tree  at  the  end  of  the  lawn  underneath  which, 
three  days  ago,  the  ill-fated  "  Mill  on  the  Floss"  had 
lain,  they  turned  back  again  towards  the  house,  and 
she  directed  their  talk,  like  their  steps,  in  another  direc- 
tion. 

"  It  is  good  of  you, — I  mean  about  Martin,"  she 
said.  "  That  is  just  what  he  wants,  to  go  among 
people  who  will  take  him  and  his  music  seriously,  not 
gasp  just  because  he  plays  extremely  fast.  No  one 
here  really  knows  the  difference  between  Rule  Britan- 
nia and  the  Dead  March.  And  yesterday — oh  dear! 
oh  dear!"     And  she  broke  out  laughing. 

"  There  isn't  much,"  observed  Frank,  parentheti- 
cally.    "  But  please  tell  me  about  yesterday." 

"  I  think  I  must,  because,  though  you  will  laugh, 
you  will  laugh  kindly.  It  was  at  the  early  service, 
and  the  dear  boy  played  the  overture  to  '  Lohengrin' 
as  a  voluntary,  and  my  father  thought  it  wasn't  quite 
suitable." 


THE    CHALLONERS  97 

He  considered  this  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  don't  think  I  want  to  laugh  at 
all?"  he  said.     "1  understand  perfectly." 

"  But  Martin  didn't.     That  was  so  funny." 

"  No,  he  wouldn't.  That  is  one  of  the  penalties  of 
genius.  In  fact,  it  is  what  genius  means.  It  is  having 
one  point  of  view  so  vivid  that  all  others  are  dark,  in- 
visible beside  it.    And  genius  is  always  intolerant." 

Her  eye  brightened. 

"  I  don't  know  if  you  know  or  not,"  she  said,  "  but 
I  expect  you  do.  Is  Martin  really  all  that, — dear, 
stupid,  old  Martin  ?" 

"  I  believe  so.  We  are  going  to  get  him  to  London 
to  find  out.  You  will  give  him  my  message,  won't 
you?  I  go  up  to  town  to-day,  and  he  may  come  any 
day  he  likes;  the  sooner  the  better.  Lady  Sunning- 
dale  is  writing  to  you. 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  heavenly!"  said  she. 

He  took  his  leave  soon  after,  and  went  back  to 
Chartries  for  an  early  lunch,  since  Lady  Sunningdale, 
who  never  started  anywhere  in  the  morning,  unless  it 
was  impossible  to  get  there  otherwise,  had  retained  his 
services  in  order  to  minimize  the  dangers  and  difficul- 
ties incident  to  travel  by  rail  with  Suez  Canal  and 
Sahara.  For  Sahara  had  an  unreasoning  dislike  of 
locomotive  engines,  which  had  never,  at  present,  hurt 
her,  and  always  tried  to  bite  them,  while  Suez  Canal, 
whenever  it  was  feasible,  jumped  down  between  the 
platform  and  the  train  and  smelled  about  for  whatever 
there  might  be  of  interest  among  the  wheels  of  the 
carriages.  In  addition  to  these  excitements,  their  mis- 
tress never  moved  without  a  tea-basket,  a  collapsible 
card-table, — which  usually  collapsed, — a  small  library 

7 


98  THE    CHALLONERS 

of  light  literature,  a  jewel-case,  so  that  the  tedium  of  a 
journey  in  her  company  was  reduced  to  a  minimum, 
since  when  the  train  was  in  motion  these  recreations 
could  be  indulged  in,  and  when  it  stopped  there  was 
more  than  enough  to  be  done  in  collecting  these  price- 
less impedimenta  to  prevent  any  companion  of  hers 
from  feeling  a  moment's  boredom  that  arose  from  idle- 
ness. 

She  also  could  hardly  ever  produce  either  her  own 
or  the  dogs'  railway  tickets  when  called  upon  to  do  so, 
thus  giving  use  to  games  of  hide-and-seek  all  over  the 
carriage. 

And  to-day,  in  addition,  Frank  had  something  very 
considerable  of  his  own  to  think  about,  something  that 
made  him  very  alert,  yet  very  inattentive,  that  bright- 
ened his  eye,  yet  prevented  him  seeing  anything.  And 
he  could  almost  swear  that  the  odour  of  sweet-peas  per- 
vaded the  railway  carriage. 

Martin,  mean  time,  was  spending  the  morning  on 
the  banks  of  the  stream  which  had  given  him  those 
good  moments  early  the  day  before.  But  to-day  the 
sun  was  very  hot  and  bright,  and  after  an  hour's  fruit- 
less, but  patient,  attempts  on  the  subaqueous  lives,  he 
abandoned  the  vain  activity  of  the  arm,  and  with  the 
vague  intention  of  returning  home  and  getting  through 
some  ^schylus  before  fishing  again  towards  evening, 
sat  down  to  smoke  a  cigarette  in  the  fictitious  coolness, 
bred  by  the  sound  of  running  water,  preparatory  to 
trudging  back  across  the  baked  fields.  Tall  grasses 
mixed  with  meadow-sweet  and  ragged-robin  moved 
gently  in  the  little  breeze  that  stirred  languidly  in  the 
air,  but  the  sky  was  utterly  bare  of  clouds  and  stretched 
a  translucent  dome  of  sapphire  from  the  low-lying 


THE    CHALLONERS  99 

horizon  of  the  water-meadows  on  the  one  hand  up 
to  the  high  yellowing  line  of  the  downs  on  the  other. 
At  his  feet  flowed  the  beautiful  stream,  twining  ropes 
of  shifting  crystal  as  it  hurried  on  its  stainless  journey 
over  beds  of  topaz-coloured  gravel  or  chalk  that 
gleamed  with  the  lustre  of  pears  beneath  the  surface. 
Strands  and  patches  of  weed  waved  in  the  suck  of  the 
water,  struck  by  the  sun  into  tawny  brightness,  shot 
here  and  there  with  incredible  emerald,  and  tall  brown- 
flowering  rushes  twitched  and  nodded  in  the  stress  of 
the  current.  Suspended  larks  carolled  invisible  against 
the  brightness  of  the  sky,  swallows  skimmed  and 
swooped,  and  soon  a  moorhen,  rendered  bold  by  Mar- 
tin's immobility,  half  splashed,  half  swam  across  the 
stream  just  in  front  of  him.  And  he  thought  no  more 
of  the  fish  he  had  not  caught,  but  sat  with  hands 
clasped  round  his  knees,  and,  without  knowing  it, 
drank  deep  of  the  ineffable  beauty  that  was  poured  out 
around  him  on  meadow  and  stream  and  sky.  Every 
detail,  too,  was  as  exquisite  as  the  whole:  the  yellow 
flags  that  stood  ankle-deep  in  the  edge  of  the  river  were 
each  a  miracle  of  design;  the  blue  butterflies  that 
hovered  and  poised  on  the  meadow-sweet  were  more 
gorgeous  with  the  azure  of  their  wings  and  white  and 
black  border  than  a  casket  of  lapis-lazuli  set  with  silver 
and  shod  with  ebony. 

By  degrees  as  he  sat  there,  his  cigarette  smoked  out, 
but  with  no  thought  of  moving  or  of  ^schylus,  the 
vague  and  fluid  currents  of  his  mind  that  for  years  had 
coursed  through  his  consciousness,  though  he  himself 
had  scarcely  been  conscious  of  them,  began  for  the 
first  time  to  crystallize  into  something  illuminating  and 
definite.     Like  some  supersaturated  solution  of  chemi- 


100  THE    CHALLONERS 

cal  experiment,  his  mind,  long  crying  out  for  and  de- 
manding beauty,  needed  but  one  more  grain  of  desire 
to  render  its  creed  solid,  and  to  himself  now  for  the 
first  time  came  the  revelation  of  himself,  and  like  a 
spectator  at  some  enthralling  drama,  he  watched  him- 
self, learning  what  he  was,  without  comment  either  of 
applause  or  disgust,  but  merely  fascinated  by  the  fact 
of  this  new  possession,  his  own  individuality,  and,  even 
as  Frank  had  said  to  Helen  only  yesterday,  his  own 
inalienable  right  to  it.  It  was  none  other's  but  his 
alone.  There  was  nothing  in  the  world  the  same  as  it, 
since  every  human  being  is  a  unique  specimen,  and, 
bad  or  good,  it  was  his  own  clay,  his  own  material,  out 
of  which  his  will,  like  some  sculptor's  tool  should 
fashion  a  figure  of  some  kind.  And  everything  he  saw, 
the  yellow  iris,  the  blue  butterfly,  the  water-weeds,  were 
in  their  kind  perfect.  Their  natural  growth,  unstunted 
by  restraint  or  attempt  to  control  them  into  some- 
thing else,  had  brought  them  to  that  perfection;  and 
was  it  conceivable  in  any  thinkable  scheme  of  things 
that  man,  the  highest  and  infinitely  most  marvellous 
work  of  nature,  should  not  be  capable  of  rising,  indi- 
vidual by  individual,  to  some  corresponding  perfection  ? 
Soil,  sun,  environment  were  necessary ;  the  flags  would 
not  grow  in  the  desert,  the  lark  would  not  soar  nor 
carol  in  captivity,  but  given  the  freedom,  the  care,  or  the 
cultivation  which  each  required,  every  living  and  grow- 
ing thing  had  within  itself  the  perfection  possible  to 
itself. 

Up  to  this  point  his  thought  had  been  as  intangible 
as  a  rainbow,  though  like  a  rainbow  of  definite  shape 
and  luminous  colour,  and  showed  itself  only  in  a  bright- 
ened, unseeing  eye,  and  in  fingers  that  twitched  and 


THE    CHALLONEES  101 

clutched  till  the  nails  were  white  with  pressure  round 
his  flannelled  knee.  Then  suddenly  the  crystallization 
came,  ungrammatical,  but  convincing. 

"  It  is  me,"  he  said  aloud,  as  Magda  had  said  it. 

In  a  moment  the  whole  solution  was  solid. 

Beauty.  That  was  the  food  for  which  every  fibre  of 
his  nature  hungered  and  with  which  it  would  never 
be  satiated.  Long  ago  he  had  known  it,  but  known  it 
second-hand,  know^n  it  as  in  a  dream,  when  he  quoted 
Browning,  three  days  ago,  to  his  sister.  But  that 
dream,  that  second-hand  information,  had  become  real 
and  authentic.  No  matter  how  trivial  might  be  the 
experience,  that  was  what  he  demanded  of  all  experi- 
ence,— whether  he  ate  or  drank,  it  was  beauty  he 
craved;  whether  he  ran  or  sat  down,  he  knew  now 
that,  in  so  far  as  it  was  consciously  done,  it  was  the 
thrill  of  speed,  the  content  of  rest  that  he  demanded 
of  the  function.  Then,  suddenly,  he  asked  himself 
what  he  demanded  in  the  exercise  of  the  highest  func- 
tion of  all,  that  of  worship — Was  it  the  pitch-pine  pew, 
the  magenta  saint,  the  tuneless  chant  ?  Was  it  the  fear 
of  hell,  the  joy  of  an  uncomprehended  heaven,  even 
though  the  gate-stones  of  the  New  Jerusalem  were  of 
jaspar  and  agate?  Not  so;  for  what  did  he  worship? 
Absolute  beauty,  that  quality  of  which  everything  that 
is  beautiful  has  some  grain  of  mirrored  reflection. 
That  was  God,  the  supreme,  the  omnipotent,  present  in 
all  that  was  beautiful  just  as  much  as  he  was  present 
in  the  breaking  of  the  Bread  and  the  outpouring  of  the 
mystic  Wine,  for  all  was  part  of  Him. 


CHAPTER    V 

The  big  drawing-room  at  Yorkshire  House  was 
full  to  overflowing,  and  for  the  avoidance  of  asphyxia- 
tion the  six  long  windows  that  looked  on  to  the  Green 
Park  were  all  open.  Louis  Seize  candlesticks,  con- 
verted to  the  more  modern  use  of  electric  light,  were 
brilliant  on  the  crimson  satin  of  the  walls,  and  a  couple 
of  dozen  rows  of  chairs,  all  occupied,  were  directed 
towards  the  end  of  the  room  where  the  Steinway  grand 
stood.  Behind  the  chairs  there  was  a  throng  of  stand- 
ing folk,  but,  except  for  the  voice  of  the  piano,  no 
sound  broke  the  stillness.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  ago 
the  smaller  drawing-room  opening  out  of  this  had  been 
full  of  chattering  groups,  but  now  it  was  completely 
empty,  except  for  some  half-dozen  people  who  had 
been  unable  to  find  a  standing-place  in  the  larger  room, 
and  crowded  as  near  as  they  could  to  the  doorway. 
But  the  last  human  voice  had  been  that  of  Martin. 

"  I'll  play  it  if  you  like,"  he  said,  "  but  it  will  take 
nearly  half  an  hour." 

Then  he  sat  down  and,  since  he  had  played  before, 
a  hush  most  abnormal  during  the  ordinary  piano  solo 
fell  on  the  "  party"  which  had  been  invited  in  after 
dinner.  Many,  no  doubt,  were  unmusical,  but  more, 
since  it  was  Frank's  house  and  it  was  he  who  had 
invited  the  guests,  had  some  instinct  for  perfection, 
that  bond  that  joins  together  all  artists.  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale,  of  course,  was  there,  and  had  early  estab- 
lished herself  in  a  front  row,   and  Helen,  who  was 


THE    CHALLONERS  103 

under  her  chaperonage,  sat  next  her.     At  the  end  of 
the  fourth  etude  of  Chopin's,  she  had  said  to  Martin: 

"  Martin,  play  the  Brahms  Variations,"  and  the  de- 
mand had  led  to  his  word  of  warning.  But  warning 
was  not  needed.  If  the  piece  was  going  to  take  an 
hour,  no  one  would  have  complained. 

Frank,  knowing  the  acoustic  properties  of  the  room 
better  than  Lady  Sunningdale,  had  placed  himself  in 
the  seat  of  the  second  window,  with  Karl  Rusoff  beside 
him.  He  had  himself  not  felt  the  slightest  hesitation 
in  asking  the  great  pianist  to  listen  to  the  recital  of 
this  wonderful  debutant,  and  Karl's  absolute  silence  at 
the  end  of  the  Variations  convinced  him  that  he  had 
been  right.  And  as  the  last  glorious  fantasy  vibrated 
and  died  on  the  air,  while  the  crowd  burst  gloves  in 
applause,  he  turned  to  him. 

"Well?"  he  said. 

Karl  Rusoff  nodded  his  great  grey  head  up  and 
down  once  or  twice. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,"  he  said,  "  I  usually  think  it 
very  clever  to  unearth  a  genius.  But  with  your  genius 
it  needed  no  cleverness.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  will 
happen?  We, — the  pianists,  I  mean, — with  our  nim- 
ble professional  fingers  will  in  a  year's  time  be  fighting 
each  other  for  seats  at  his  concerts,  if  he  is  kind  enough 
to  give  any.  Let  him  give  one,  however,  just  to  show 
us,  to — yes,  I  mean  it — to  let  us  weep  over  our  own 
deficiencies.  Fire,  my  God,  what  fire !  But  I  hope  he 
won't  give  many.  He  ought — I  only  say  he  ought — to 
be  too  busy  with  his  owm  work.  As  regards  his  piano- 
playing,  of  course  you  were  right.  Who  has  taught 
him?  Nobody,  I  tell  you.  How  can  you  teach  thatf 
Will  I  teach  him  ?    Certainly  I  will,  as  Moliere's  house- 


104  THE    CHALLONERS 

maid  taught  her  master.  He  does  a  hundred  things 
quite  wrong.    But — ah,  a  big  but!" 

Martin  had  risen  and  bowed  his  thanks  to  the  storm 
of  applause,  but  his  eye  sought  the  corner  where  Karl 
Rusoff  sat,  with  his  great  grey,  leonine  head  and  his 
grey  eyes  gleaming  through  his  spectacles.  The  latter 
rose  and  came  up  the  gangway  between  the  chairs  and 
the  w^all  towards  him  and  shook  hands  with  him. 

"  Mr.  Challoner,"  he  said,  "  that  was  a  great  treat 
to  me.  Thank  you.  You  can  play  what  is  really  diffi- 
cult, magnificently.  Now,  my  dear  young  man,  I  want 
to  ask  you  a  great  favour.  Attempt  something  much 
more  difficult, — that  is  to  say,  something  where  the 
notes  are  quite  easy,  but  where  the  rest,  which  is  every- 
thing, must  be  a  poem.  Play,  if  you  happen  to  know 
it — really  know  it,  I  mean — Chopin's  fifteenth  prelude, 
the  rain  on  the  roof." 

Martin  looked  round  the  room,  but  nobody  had 
moved  from  his  seat,  except  Frank,  who  had  followed 
Monsieur  Rusoff. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  he  said.  "  But  are  you  sure  you 
really  want  me  to  play  again?"  he  asked,  with  the 
charming  horror  that  a  nice  boy  has  of  being  a  bore. 
"  Are  you  sure  they  aren't  sick  of  me?" 

"  No,  do  play  again,  Martin,  if  you  will,"  said 
Frank,  who  had  followed  Karl.  "  We  can  really  stand 
a  little  more." 

"  I  have  asked  him  to  play  the  fifteenth  prelude," 
said  Rusoff. 

"  Ah,  yes,  do,"  said  Frank. 

So  the  rain  beat,  the  gutter  choked,  the  chariots  of 
God  thundered  overhead,  one  ray  of  sunlight  gleamed, 
and  again  the  rain,  pitiless  and  slow,  spoke  of  an  alien 


THE    CHALLONERS  105 

land.  And  at  the  end,  in  the  moment's  silence,  more 
appreciative  than  any  applause,  which  followed,  Mar- 
tin's glance  again  sought  the  great  pianist,  and  with  a 
sudden  spasm  of  joy,  so  keen  that  for  a  moment  he 
thought  he  must  shout  or  laugh,  he  saw  that  Karl 
Rusoff  had  taken  off  his  spectacles  and  was  wiping  his 
eyes. 

The  party  that  Frank  had  brought  together  that 
evening  was  very  typical  of  his  tastes  and  of  the  posi- 
tion which  he  held  in  the  world.  Though  only  thirty, 
thanks  partly  to  the  great  wealth  which  was  always 
completely  at  the  service  of  any  artistic  cause,  but 
chiefly  to  his  own  exquisite  and  unerring  artistic  sense, 
he  had  now  for  some  years  been  a  sort  of  accredited 
godfather  to  any  new  talent,  and  for  any  one  to  "  come 
out"  at  his  house  was  a  guarantee  that  the  aspirant 
was  to  be  taken  seriously.  During  the  three  months 
of  London  season  he  gave  a  succession  of  evening 
parties,  which  all  had  some  definite  raison  d'etre,  chiefly 
musical.  And  to-night  he  had  taken  special  pains  to 
get  all  the  right  people,  with  the  result  that  there  were 
not  perhaps  a  dozen  people  in  London  whose  opinion 
was  worth  having  who  were  not  there.  And  the  opin- 
ion, for  once,  was  practically  unanimous;  for,  though 
Claud  Petman,  plump  and  short-fingered,  had  some- 
thing to  say  to  Henry  Runton  about  the  lack  of  finality 
in  the  determination  of  his  key-colour,  and  Henry  Run- 
ton,  over  ortolans,  agreed  with  the  additional  criticism 
that  his  phrasing  of  the  fourth  variation  was  a  little 
pulpy,  yet  the  fact  that  they  were  critics  rendered  it 
obligatory  on  them  to  criticise.  But  they  had  but  small 
opportunity  to  express  these  fine  dififerences  of  opinion 
to  Martin  himself,  for  Lady  Sunningdale,  on  the  con- 


106  THE    CHALLONERS 

elusion  of  the  prelude,  beckoned  imperatively  to  her 
"  monster,"  and  made  a  brilliant  group  round  him. 
She  had  taken  it  into  her  head  that  she  had  "  dis- 
covered" Martin,  and  told  every  one  so. 

"  My  dear,  I  assure  you  I  gasped,"  she  said  to  Karl 
Rusoff.  "  There  he  was  in  a  poky  little  room,  fur- 
nished entirely  with  prayer-books,  in  a  dreadful  par- 
sonage, playing  on  a  cracked  tin-kettle  of  a  piano,  and 
playing  as  he  played  to-night.  Then  in  the  middle  his 
father  came  in  and  said,  '  Go  and  do  your  Hebrew- 
Greek,  instead  of  wasting  your  time  at  the  Jew's- 
harp.'  Such  a  strange  man,  Flints's  brother,  you 
know,  and  lives,  I  believe,  entirely  on  locusts  and  wild- 
honey  and  wears  broadcloth,  or  is  it  sack-cloth  ?  Some- 
thing very  thick  and  imperishable,  anyhow.  Such  a 
beautiful  life,  but  ascetic,  not  artistic, — Mendelssohn 
and  pitch-pine,  you  know.  Of  course,  I  saw  at  once 
how  priceless  Martin  was ;  but  we  had  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty in  persuading  his  father  to  let  him  come  up  to 
London.  He  thinks  all  artists  will  go  to  hell,  if  they 
have  not  already  gone  there.  Yes.  I  didn't  bring  my 
darlings  to-night,  because  they  always  bark  when  any- 
one plays  the  piano,  and  Suez  Canal  is  so  shrill.  But, 
is  not  my  monster  too  wonderful?  And  now  I  must 
go.  I  never  get  to  bed  till  it  is  time  to  get  up,  and  I 
shan't  sleep  one  wink  after  the  music.  I  never  do. 
Where  is  Helen?  Yes,  she  is  Martin's  twin.  Why 
aren't  we  all  twins  like  that  ?  Supper  ?  How  nice !  I 
am  famishing.  Music  always  takes  so  much  out  of 
one.  Yes,  pray  take  me  into  supper,  Monsieur  Rusoff, 
and  let  us  put  it  back.  Martin,  don't  dare  to  leave  my 
side  for  a  single  moment." 

Frank,  in  the  mean  time,  had  found  a  chair  next 


THE    CHALLONERS  107 

Helen.  The  girl  looked  divinely  happy.  Her  pride  in 
Martin,  her  intense  pleasure  in  the  wonderful  recep- 
tion he  had  been  given,  flushed  her  cheek  with  excite- 
ment and  sparkled  in  her  eyes.  Frank  had  not  had 
an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her  the  whole  evening, 
and  now,  as  he  was  making  his  way  towards  her 
through  the  crowd,  delayed  every  other  moment  by 
some  acquaintance  or  friend,  he  met  her  eye  long 
before  he  was  within  speaking  distance,  and  as  he 
smiled  in  response  to  her,  something  suddenly  thumped 
softly  and  largely  on  his  heart,  as  if  demanding  ad- 
mittance. At  last  he  reached  her,  and  she  looked 
at  him  with  her  direct,  child-like  gaze. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  thank  you  most  awfully." 

He  laughed,  not  pretending  not  to  know  what  she 
meant. 

"  Ah,  we  are  all  thanking  Martin,"  he  said,  "  and 
those  who  know  best,  I  think,  thank  him  most.  Karl 
Rusoff,  for  instance." 

"Then,  you  were  right?"  she  asked.  "There  is  no 
mistake?    He  is  really  of  the  best?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  Monsieur  Rusoff's  opinion." 

"  I  should  like  to  kiss  him,"  said  Helen. 

"  Shall  I  fetch  him?"  asked  Frank. 

"  Not  this  moment.     Go  on,  Lord  Yorkshire." 

"  That  is  a  good  deal  already.  And  he  will  take 
him  as  a  pupil,  he  says.     He  has  not  consented  to  take 

a  pupil  for  years.    Now  we  have  to  consult How 

is  that  to  be  managed?" 

Helen's  face  fell  for  a  moment. 

"  It  must  be  managed,"  she  said.  "  I  will  write  to 
father  to-morrow,  telling  him  all  that  has  happened. 
You  must  write,  too;   Lady  Sunningdale  must  write. 


108  THE    CHALLONERS 

Poor  father!  We  must  give  him  no  peace  till  he  lets 
Martin  study.    What  are  we  to  do?" 

"  You  must  think  it  over,  and  tell  me  if  I  can  be  of 
any  use,"  said  he.  "  I  am  entirely  at  your  disposition. 
Anyhow,  there  is  a  fortnight  for  him  in  London.  And 
you  ?  You  came  up  to-day,  did  you  not  ?  Ah,  before  I 
forget.  Lady  Sunningdale  is  coming  to  my  box  at  the 
opera  to-morrow  night.  Please  come,  too.  She,  Mar- 
tin, you,  L    Just  we  four." 

Those  last  three  words  gave  him  extraordinary 
pleasure. 

"  But  are  you  sure  you  have  room  for  me?"  asked 
Helen.  "  Lady  Sunningdale  is  so  kind :  she  is  dump- 
ing me  at  all  her  friends'  houses,  upsetting  their  din- 
ner-tables right  and  left,  and  there  is  no  earthly  reason 
to  suppose  they  want  me." 

"  I  want  you,"  said  Frank,  simply,  and  again  the 
words  pleased  him. 

"  Thank  you,  very  much.  Where  is  she,  by  the  way? 
Will  you  take  me  to  her?  She  probably  wants  to  go 
home.     I  see  people  are  leaving." 

"  It  is  conceivable  she  is  having  supper,"  said  Frank, 
gravely.     "  Let  us  go  and  see." 

Karl  Rusoff  attended  to  Lady  Sunningdale's  wants, 
which  were  rather  extensive,  but  lingered  after  she 
had  left,  and  when  the  rooms  were  growing  empty  he 
came  up  to  Martin. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Challoner,"  he  said,  "  I  am  sure  you 
have  had  enough  compliments  paid  you  by  this  time. 
So  allow  a  very  rude  old  Russian,  who  has  no  man- 
ners at  all,  to  take  you  into  a  corner  and  talk  to  you 
for  a  little." 

Martin  turned  a  brilliant  glance,  vivid,  and  full  of 


THE    CHALLONERS  109 

huge,  youthful  enjoyment  on  him.  He  knew,  he  could 
not  help  knowing,  how  complete  had  been  his  success, 
and  coming  straight  from  the  country  and  from  that 
home  where  he  was  officially  an  idler,  almost  a  black 
sheep,  into  this  cultured,  critical  world,  the  knowledge 
had  somewhat  intoxicated  him.  It  was  like  coming 
out  of  some  dark,  dripping  tunnel  into  the  light  of  a 
noonday  and  flying  along  through  a  kingdom  that  was 
his.  For  he,  he  had  been  the  central  figure ;  round  him 
had  crowds  collected,  for  him  ears  had  been  alert  and 
applause  had  burst.  Artist  as  he  was  by  nature,  and 
caring,  therefore,  infinitely  more  for  his  art  then  for 
any  adventitious  success  that  he  might  achieve  by  it, 
he  would  not  have  been  human,  and  certainly  not 
young,  if  this  evening  had  not  been  honey  and  wine 
to  his  boyish  heart.  For,  except  to  the  sour,  success 
is  sweet,  and  it  is  only  the  cynic  and  the  unsuccessful 
who  affect  to  find  applause  hollow.  And  Martin  was 
emphatically  neither  cynic  nor  sour :  the  world  seemed 
to  him  the  most  excellent  habitation.  But  he  detached 
himself  at  once  from  the  group  which  was  round  him ; 
he  was  still  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  know  that 
it  was  probably  better  worth  his  while  to  listen  to  Karl 
Rusoff  talking  sense  than  to  any  one  else  who  might 
have  pleasant  things  to  say,  and  they  passed  cut  of  the 
supper-room  into  the  now  deserted  room  where  he  had 
played. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Mr.  Challoner,  listen  to  me,"  said 
Karl.  "  Probably  a  hundred  people  this  evening  have 
told  you  that  you  are  a  very  wonderful  young  man. 
That  cannot  help  being  a  pleasant  hearing,  but " 

He  looked  at  Martin's  radiant  face  and  paused. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  I  will  talk  another 


110  THE    CHALLONERS 

time,  I  think.  Go  and  listen  to  what  everybody  else 
has  to  say  to  you.  Drink  it  all  in;  enjoy  yourself.  I 
am  too  serious.    I  can  wait." 

"  But  I  would  sooner  listen  to  you,"  said  Martin. 

"  Are  you  sure?    Are  you  really  sure?" 

"  Quite.    Absolutely." 

"  Well,  then,  in  the  sacred  name  of  Art,  forget  all 
the  pleasant  things  that  have  been  said  to  you.  So 
many  of  these  delightful  people  do  not  know.  Our 
charming  Lady  Sunningdale  even,  she  does  not  know. 
She  appreciates,  I  grant  you,  but  that  is  all." 

Martin's  face  had  grown  quite  serious;  the  bright- 
ness in  it  seemed  to  have  ceased  to  be  on  the  surface 
only;  it  glowed  beneath  like  the  core  of  a  prospering 
fire. 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do,  then,"  he  said. 

"  Work,  and  live  also.  Do  not  forget  that  any  ex- 
perience in  life,  so  long  only  as  it  is  not  sensual, — for 
whatever  is  sensual  blurs  and  deadens  the  fineness  of 
any  gift, — gives  richness  and  breath  to  your  power  in 
music.  Live,  then ;  live  to  your  utmost  and  your  best. 
Do  not  be  afraid  of  anything.  Neither  the  bitterest 
sorrow  that  the  world  holds  nor  its  most  poignant  joy 
can  bring  you  anything  but  good,  so  long  as  you  em- 
brace it  willingly,  passionately.  But  shun  a  sorrow  or 
a  joy,  and  you  are  clipped,  maimed,  blinded." 

The  old  man  spoke  with  extraordinary  fire  and  em- 
phasis, and  the  intense  eager  gravity  of  Martin's  face 
deepened.  Here  was  a  coherent  code  which  summed 
up,  strung  together,  his  own  musings  by  the  river-brink. 

"  Am  I  then  to — am  I  to  take  all  that  comes,"  he 
asked,  "  and  trust  that  it  will  somehow  make  grist  for 
my  own  little  mill  ?" 


THE    CHALLONEES  111 

"  Ah,  you  understand,"  said  Karl.  "  I  see  you  have 
thought  of  it  before.  But  never  call  your  mill  little. 
If  it  is  little,  you  may  be  sure  that  others  will  label 
it  for  you.  And  if  it  is  not  little — then  down  on  your 
knees  and  thank  God.  Ah,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  all 
that  you  are.  Make  the  most  of  you.  Assume  there 
is  something." 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"  And  I  will  endorse  it,"  he  said. 

Again  Martin  looked  at  him  with  that  lucid  glance 
as  transparent  as  running  water. 

"  Yes,  I  will  endorse  it,"  he  repeated.  "  And  if  any 
one  dishonours  your  cheque,  I  will  pay  it." 

Martin  gave  a  long  sigh. 

"  You  believe  in  me?"  he  asked,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
The  rest  of  the  triumph  of  the  evening,  the  silence,  the 
applause,  were  pale  and  dim  to  him  as  compared  with 
this.  The  sun  was  rising  on  a  dream  that  he  had 
scarcely  dreamed,  and  it  was  not  a  dream,  but  a  reality. 

"  I  believe  in  your  possibilities,"  said  Karl.  "  I  be- 
lieve you  can  be, — well,  a  musician.  Now,  as  regards 
another  point.  I  have  been  asked  whether  I  will  take 
you  as  a  pupil.  On  my  part  I  ask  you  to  come  to  me. 
I  have  not  taught  for  some  years,  but  I  rather  suspect 
that  one's  power  of  teaching  increases  not  by  teaching, 
but  by  learning.  So  I  may  be  perhaps  of  some  use. 
There  are  certain  things  I  can  tell  you.  Come  and 
learn  them.  On  the  whole,  it  is  worth  your  while. 
Even  for  a  poet  the  alphabet  is  necessary." 

Martin  could  not  speak  for  a  moment. 

"  Some  day  I  will  try  to  thank  you,"  he  said  at 
length.  "  But  not  by  words.  I  don't  think  you  want 
that,  and  also  it  would  be  idle  for  me  to  do  it." 


112  THE    CHALLONERS 

He  paused  again, 

"  But  at  present,  you  know,  I  am  not  even  certain 
that  I  shall  be  allowed  to  study.  I — I  am  very  stupid, 
you  know.  I  can't  pass  examinations,  and  my  father  is 
most  awfully  keen  about  them.  In  any  case  I  expect  I 
shall  have  to  finish  my  time  at  Cambridge." 

Rusoff  rose.  Absurd  and  almost  criminal  as  this 
seemed  to  him,  he  had  no  right  whatever  to  express 
that  to  Martin. 

"  Ah,  then,  go  back  to  Cambridge,  like  a  good  boy, 
and  do  whatever  has  to  be  done.  Forget  also  almost 
everything  that  has  occurred  to-night.  You  have  won 
a  great  deal  of  applause.  Well,  that  is  very  easy  to  win, 
and  in  itself  it  is  worth  absolutely  nothing.  In  so  far 
as  it  encourages  you  to  good  work,  whether  it  is  now  in 
the  immediate  future  at  Cambridge  or  eventually  in 
music,  there  is  no  harm  in  it ;  but  the  moment  it  breeds 
in  you  any  slackness,  or  the  feeling  '  this  will  do  for 
them,'  it  is  a  poison,  an  insidious  narcotic  poison." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"  It  is  not  by  applause,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  by  any 
help  really  that  I  or  any  one  else  can  give  you  that  you 
may  become  great.  It  is  in  yourself  alone  that  the 
power  lies,  and  it  is  by  your  life,  by  your  industry, 
and  by  the  fulness  and  completeness  of  your  experience 
and  your  sympathy  that  you  will  be  able  to  get  hold  of 
that  power.  For  your  warning,  I  tell  you  that  it  is  no 
easy  task — that,  mining  in  yourself,  you  will  have 
to  think  and  struggle  and  despair  before  you  can  bring 
your  own  gold  to  the  surface.  You  will  also  have  to 
find  your  choice  by  patient,  unremitting  work.  You 
cannot  make  others  feel  unless  you  feel  yourself,  and 
you  have  to  learn  how  to  feel.     It  is  not  so  easy. 


THE    CHALLONERS  113 

Again,  having  learned  that,  you  cannot  convey  what 
you  feel  until  you  have  learned  speech.  And,  for  your 
encouragement,  I  believe — or  else  I  would  not  accept 
you,  much  less  ask  you  to  be  my  pupil — I  believe  that 
you  will  be  able  to  do  so.  You  have  perception.  You 
can  interpret  others,  as  I  have  heard  to-night.  So  that 
some  day  you  may  write  that  which  will  give  tears  or 
laughter  to  those  not  yet  born.     Good-night." 

The  summer  and  the  season  were  at  their  mid-most, 
but  though  the  former  had  been  fine,  the  latter  at 
present  had  been  rather  objectless.  Balls,  concerts,  par- 
ties, all  the  various  devices  by  which  the  crowd  believes 
it  amuses  itself,  and  without  which  it  would  certainly 
be  bored,  had  occurred  with  their  usual  frequency,  but 
up  till  now  no  bright  particular  star  had  arisen  to  draw 
the  eyes  and  the  thoughts  of  all  to  itself.  There  had, 
in  fact,  been  no  "  rage,"  and  neither  book,  play,  vio- 
linist, or  traveller,  nor  even  a  cowboy  from  the  remote 
West,  had  appeared  to  fill  the  invitation-cards  and 
usurp  the  thoughts  of  emigrant  London.  Why  nobody 
had  invented  something  by  this  time  was  not  clear,  for 
absolutely  anything  in  the  world  can  become  the  rage 
of  one  season  to  be  dropped  either  like  a  hot  potato  or 
a  soiled  glove  the  next.  The  year  before  there  had 
been  a  cowboy, — this  year  he  was  a  hot  potato,  for  he 
had  become  odiously  familiar;  a  female  palmist  was 
also  still  in  existence,  but  she  was  a  soiled  glove,  since 
the  pleasant  frisson  of  having  a  bewildering  future  told 
in  all  the  horror  of  detail  before  your  friends  is  an 
experience  not  to  be  repeated  if  subsequent  events  have 
shewn  the  prophecy  to  have  been  altogether  erratic. 

But   from   the  night  of  Lord   Yorkshire's   concert 


114  THE    CHALLONERS 

hope  began  to  wake  in  the  season's  middle-aged  breast, 
that  it,  too,  hke  most  of  its  predecessors,  would  be 
known  by  an  engrossing  topic  to  mark  it  out  from 
others  before  it  was  numbered  with  the  colourless  dead. 
For  the  picturesque — of  a  picturesqueness  unequalled 
even  by  last  season's  cowboy — had  at  length  arisen  in 
the  shape  of  twins  from  Hampshire,  Challoner  twins, 
Flints's  nephew  and  niece.  They  sprang  from  a  coun- 
try parsonage,  where  Flints's  brother,  whom  nobody 
had  hitherto  even  heard  of,  lived  like  a  sort  of  medi- 
aeval ascetic  prophet  in  a  lugubrious  atmosphere  of 
fasting  and  prayer  and  scourging  and  sack-cloth.  He 
preached  the  most  curdling  sermons  on  Sunday,  quite 
like  Savonarola,  on  the  comfortable  doctrine  of  eternal 
damnation.  About  the  twins,  however,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  least  ascetic  or  mediaeval :  they  were 
both  quite  young,  hardly  out  of  their  teens,  and  were 
simply  Diana  and  Apollo  come  to  earth  again.  The 
girl  (Helen,  too)  had  Titian  hair,  in  golden,  glorious 
profusion,  a  face  like  the  morning,  and  the  inches  of  a 
goddess.  And  her  charm,  her  bubbling  spirits,  her 
extraordinary  enjoyment  and  vitality!  She  made 
everybody  else  look  like  a  kitchen-maid,  which  was  so 
delightful.  But  Martin — Phoebus  Apollo,  drunk  with 
nectar!  He  played,  too;  Karl  Rusoff  said  he  had 
never  heard  anything  like  it,  and  the  dear  old  angel 
simply  wept  the  other  night  at  Frank  Yorkshire's, 
when  Phoebus  Apollo  first  dawned,  but  wept  floods. 
And  what  could  have  been  more  romantic  than  the 
manner  of  their  appearance?  People  were  asked — we 
were  all  asked — to  Lord  Yorkshire's  for  "  Music"  in 
the  bottom  left-hand  corner,  expecting,  perhaps,  a 
couple  of  songs  from  Maltina  and  a  nocturne  of  Ru- 


THE    CHALLONERS  115 

soff's.  Instead,  this  divine  boy  walks  up  to  the  piano 
and  plays  the  "  Pied  Piper"  to  us  all.  Yorkshire 
brought  him  up  from  the  country,  without  a  word  to 
anybody,  and  just  shot  him  at  London.  He  hit. 
Helen  was  with  Lady  Sunningdale, — she  always  scores 
somehow, — who  gives  out  openly  that  she  is  madly  in 
love  with  Martin,  and  makes  him  imitate  her,  which 
he  does  with  such  awful  fidelity  that  it  is  impossible 
not  to  believe,  if  one  shuts  one's  eyes,  that  it  is  not  she 
who  is  talking.  The  only  question  is  whether  she  will 
poison  Sunningdale  and  insist  on  marrying  Phoebus 
Apollo,  or  whether  he  will  say  "  Retro  Sathanas."  It 
may  be  taken  for  granted  that  Yorkshire  will  marry 
the  girl.  Then,  the  next  night  they  were  all  four  at 
the  opera  in  Yorkshire's  box,  next  the  Royal  box,  and 
nobody  looked  at  anything  else.  The  girl  was  dressed 
in  grey,  very  simple,  but  quite  good.  There  was  just  a 
touch  of  blue  somewhere;  no  jewels,  but  that  radiant 
face  and  that  glorious  hair!  Poor  Lady  Sunningdale 
beside  her  looked  like  a  lobster  salad  in  the  highest 
spirits.  But  really  the  boy  is  the  handsomer ;  and  when 
the  opera  was  over  people  simply  stood  on  the  stairs 
to  see  them  go  out.  But  the  twins  were  completely 
unconscious  that  it  was  they  whom  every  one  was 
looking  at,  and  came  downstairs  together,  chatting, 
laughing,  and  chaffing  Lady  Sunningdale  because  she 
had  gone  to  sleep  in  the  second  act  of  "  Siegfried." 
My  dear,  they  are  simply  divine,  and  we  must  secure 
them  at  once  for  dinner  or  something,  otherwise  it  will 
be  too  late. 

The  last  sentence,  whatever  in  this  brief  resume  of 
what  London  said  was  false  or  exaggerated,  was  cer- 
tainly borne  out  by  subsequent  facts.     For  London, 


116  THE    CHALLONERS 

tired  with  its  spinster  ragelessness,  rose  at  them  as 
trout  rise  in  the  days  of  May-fly,  and  besought  their 
presence,  finding  them,  as  is  not  always  the  case  with 
its  rages,  improve  on  acquaintance.  They  enjoyed 
themseh^es  so  enormously,  and  enjoyment  is  a  most  in- 
fectious disease,  of  which  every  hostess  prays  that  her 
guests  may  sicken.  They  danced  divinely,  with  the 
same  childish  pleasure,  all  night.  Whatever  the  en- 
tertainment was,  they  were  delighted,  and  their  delight 
diffused  itself  through  the  crowds  of  which  they  were 
the  centre.  And  it  was  always  interesting  to  have  at 
one's  house  the  girl  from  nowhere,  who  was  going  to 
make  the  match  of  the  season,  and  the  boy  from  no- 
where, who  was  going  to  send  the  world  mad  with 
music.  The  twins,  in  fact,  blazed  in  the  blue;  they 
were  the  latest  discovery,  the  point  at  which  all  tele- 
scopes were  aimed.  And  they  presumably,  like  the 
latest-discovered  star,  were  too  busy  to  be  either  pleased 
or  embarrassed  that  everybody  was  looking  at  them; 
they  just  sang  and  shone  together  with  all  the  other 
lesser  stars. 

Ten  days  passed  thus.  Lady  Sunningdale  plying  the 
bellows  assiduously  and  from  time  to  time  throwing 
on  fresh  faggots  of  interesting  and  picturesque  infor- 
mation to  feed  the  blaze.  Nobody,  not  even  the  twins 
themselves,  had  been  more  astonished  than  she  when 
they  shot  up  into  the  zenith  of  success,  for  she  had  not 
anticipated  anything  of  the  kind ;  but  that  having  hap- 
pened, she  was  quick  to  assume  the  role  of  godmother. 
Nothing  again,  a  week  or  two  before,  had  been  further 
from  her  thoughts  than  the  idea  that  Frank  Yorkshire 
should  marry  Helen ;  but  that  having  been  suggested 
to  her,  it  was,  of  course,   incumbent  on  her  to  say 


THE    CHALLONEBS  117 

that  she  had  brought  them  together  with  that  ex- 
press purpose,  and  by  dint  of  repetition  soon  got  to 
beUeve  it. 

The  alhed  forces  mean  time  had  concerted  their  at- 
tack on  that  very  well-garrisoned  fortress  known  as 
Martin's  father.  Sheets  of  desultory  letters  were 
rained  upon  him  by  Lady  Sunningdale,  which  he  an- 
swered with  punctilious  politeness;  while  Frank,  in 
far  soberer  strain,  told  Lord  Flintshire  the  opinion  of 
those  like  Karl  Rusoff,  who  were  thoroughly  com- 
petent to  judge,  begging  him  use  it  in  Martin's  behalf. 
In  consequence  he  wrote  soon  afterwards  to  his  brother 
with  some  earnestness : 

"  You  hardly  ever  come  to  town,  I  know,  my  dear  Sidney," 
his  letter  ran,  "  but  I  really  wish  you  would  come  now.  It  would 
make  you  prouder  than  you  have  ever  been  of  both  your  children, 
if  you  saw  them  here.  London,  I  am  speaking  quite  seriously, 
has  gone  off  its  head  about  them.  And,  indeed,  I'm  sure  I  don't 
wonder.  They  are  absolutely  entrancing;  their  enjoyment  of  it 
all  is  the  most  infectious  thing  I  ever  saw,  and  we  play  ridiculous 
round  games  after  dinner  instead  of  grumbling  at  each  other 
over  Bridge.  And  their  looks !  Helen  has  taken  the  shine  out 
of  all  the  debutantes,  and  yet  not  one  of  them  seems  to  hate  her 
for  it. 

"  This,  however,  is  frivolous ;  but  I  want  to  tell  you  very 
seriously  what  an  extraordinary  impression  Martin's  musical  abili- 
ties have  made.  He  played  the  other  night  at  Yorkshire's  house, 
and  I  assure  you  all  the  musical  lights  of  London  simply  hung  on 
his  hands.  I  know  nothing  about  it  myself ;  but  when  you  find  a 
great  pianist  and  a  great  musician  like  Karl  Rusoff  listening, 
absorbed,  to  a  young  man  of  twenty-three,  whom  nobody  has 
hitherto  ever  heard  of,  one  cannot  help  attaching  some  weight  to 
it.  Others,  too,  so  Frank  tells  me,  have  been  no  less  enthusiastic 
about  him,  but  they  are  only  names  to  you  and  me. 

"  Well,  this  is  not  entirely  unasked  advice,  for  I  remember  at 
Chartries  a  fortnight  ago  you  consulted  me  about  Martin  and  his 


118  THE   CHALLONERS 

future.  And  now  it  seems  to  me  there  is  really  no  choice.  He 
must  be  a  musician;  you  cannot  take  the  responsibility  of  trying 
to  render  unfruitful  a  gift  like  his.  Nor  would  it  be  any  good ; 
he  is  bound  to  be  one. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Sidney,  if  there  is  any  difficulty  about  expense, 
for  I  gather  he  must  study  exclusively  for  some  time,  pray  do  not 
give  a  thought  to  it.  I  will  most  gladly  defray  all  expenses  con- 
nected with  him.  Pray  let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  possible 
on  the  subject;  and  if  you  can  run  up  to  town  for  a  day  or  two, 
you  will  see  for  yourself,  and  be  a  most  welcome  guest  at  the 
house  of 

"  Your  affectionate  brother, 

"  Flintshire." 

But,  in  spite  of  these  appeals  and  assaults,  Mr.  Chal- 
loner  shewed  as  yet  no  definite  signs  of  yielding.  To 
Lady  Sunningdale  his  punctilious  answers  seemed 
mere  frigid  stupidity,  and  she  had  not  the  smallest  or 
vaguest  comprehension  of  the  struggle  that  was  going 
on  in  his  mind.  She  could  not  understand  that  there 
was  any  choice  to  be  made,  still  less  that  the  choice 
could  be  a  hard  one,  in  determining  whether  Martin 
should  once  and  for  all  close  his  dictionaries  and  open 
his  piano,  nor,  had  Mr.  Challoner  troubled  to  explain 
to  her  the  deep  mortification  that  Martin's  ill-success 
in  classical  fields  had  given  him,  would  she  have  been 
able  to  understand  it.  Karl  Rusoff  beckoned  to  him, 
and  it  passed  her  comprehension  that  his  father  should 
not,  so  to  speak,  throw  him  into  the  musician's  arms. 
She  could  not,  in  fact,  with  all  her  acuteness,  imagine 
in  faintest  outline  any  picture  of  the  deep  and  real 
perplexity  which  Mr.  Challoner  was  going  through,  a 
perplexity  which  for  hours  together  tightened  his 
mouth  and  ruled  deep  creases  between  the  thick,  black 
lines  of  his  eyebrows.     The  serious  talks,  too,  which 


THE   CHALLONERS  119 

he  had  with  his  sister  evening  after  evening,  between 
dinner  and  prayers,  and  the  temporary  abohtion  of 
Patience,  would  have  seemed  to  her,  if  she  had  heard 
them,  meaningless ;  they  might  as  veil  have  been  con- 
ducted in  a  foreign  tongue  of  which  she  knew  neither 
alphabet,  grammar,  or  vocabulary. 

One  such  occurred  on  the  evening  when  his  brother's 
letter  arrived. 

"  I  have  heard  from  Rupert,"  he  said,  "  who  wants 
me  to  run  up  to  town.  That,  I  am  afraid,  is  impossible. 
I  have  too  r^uch  to  do,  with  Mr.  Wilkins  away  for  his 
holiday  and  the  confirmation  classes  coming  on.  All 
the  same,  I  should  be  glad  if  I  could.  His  letter  has 
troubled  me  rather." 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  his  sister,  folding  her 
very  dry,  thin  hands  in  front  of  her. 

"  He  says  such  extraordinary  things.  He  says  Lon- 
don has  gone  mad  about  them.  They  are  amusing 
themselves  enormously,  it  appears, — at  which,  of 
course,  I  am  rejoiced ;  but  I  can't  help  feeling  a  little 
anxious,  a  little  nervous.  They  are  so  young,  so 
thoughtless.  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  people  putting  all 
sorts  of  foolish  notions  into  their  heads,  making  them 
think  they  are  exceptional.  I  understand  what  people 
feel  about  them  well  enough.  Dear  children,  I  don't 
wonder  at  everybody  liking  them.  But  I  gravely  doubt 
whether  it  is  the  best  of  them  that  people  find  attrac- 
tive, whether  it  is  not  their  thoughtlessness,  their  un- 
thinking high  spirits,  their  looks,  which  attract  others. 
That  is  so  dangerous  for  them." 

Clara  Challoner  put  the  pack  of  cards,  which  had 
been  laid  out  ready  for  her  Patience,  back  into  their 
case.     She  did  this  without  a  sigh,  because  it  was  her 


120  THE    CHALLONERS 

duty  to  talk  to  her  brother  if  he  wanted  to  talk,  and 
duty  came  before  pleasure. 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  should  be  afraid  of,"  she 
said.  "  The  qualities  that  you  and  I,  Sidney,  were 
taught,  and  rightly,  to  consider  weaknesses  and  blem- 
ishes, such  as  irresponsible  high  spirits  and  careless 
gayety,  seem  to  me  now  to  be  regarded  as  virtues. 
The  younger  generation  shun  earnestness  and  purpose 
in  life  as  they  would  shun  physical  pain.  Now,  look  at 
Lady  Sunningdale,  with  whom  Helen  is  staying " 

"  Ah,  give  her  her  due,"  said  Mr.  Challoner ;  "  she 
is  a  very  clever  woman." 

"  But  to  what  does  she  devote  her  cleverness  ?  To 
the  mere  pursuit  of  frivolity.  I  wondered,  as  I  told 
you  before,  whether  you  were  wise  to  let  Helen  go 
under  her  wing.  She  will  be  among  people  whose  only 
aim  in  life  is  amusement.  That  is  the  one  thing  they 
take  any  trouble  to  secure." 

Mr.  Challoner  shook  his  head. 

"  I  hope,  I  pray,  I  have  not  done  wrong  to  let  them 
go,"  he  said.  "  I  did  it  with  a  definite  purpose,  in 
order  to  let  them  see  that  sort  of  life.  Helen  is  not 
naturally  frivolous.  Look  at  her  work  here  with  her 
classes.  How  admirable  she  is,  how  they  adore  her, 
how  her  heart  is  in  it.  And  to  bring  a  girl  up  in  ignor- 
ance of  what  the  world  is  like  does  no  good.  Some- 
times I  wonder  whether  I  have  not  sheltered  her  too 
much,  kept  her  too  much  in  this  sweet  place  with  all  her 
duties  and  pleasures  round  her.  But  it  is  not  of  her 
that  I  am  most  thinking.  She  will  come  back  un- 
spoiled, with  just  the  memory  of  a  great  deal  of  laugh- 
ter and  innocent  amusement.  No;  it  is  of  Martin. 
Rupert  speaks  chiefly  of  him." 


THE    CHALLONEES  121 

He  took  from  his  pocket  the  letter  he  had  just  re- 
ceived and  read  it  to  her. 

"  It  is  a  great  puzzle,  a  great  difficulty  to  know  what 
to  do,"  he  said.  "  Even  at  Cambridge,  where  he  is 
surrounded  by  all  those  grave,  industrious  influences, 
Martin  does  not  seem  to  me  to  gain  in  depth  or  in 
set  purpose  of  life.  And  if  I  consent  to  this,  he  is 
plunged  into  surroundings  that  so  much  more  conduce 
to  shallowness,  to  indulgence  of  the  senses.  Thank 
God,  I  believe  my  son  is  pure.  But  he  is  so  impres- 
sionable, so  easily  stirred  by  enjoyment  into  thought- 
lessness, that  I  am  very  much  afraid." 

He  got  up  and  moved  over  to  the  window,  where  he 
stood  looking  out.  In  front  the  ground  sloped  sharply 
away  down  to  the  church-yard,  where  in  the  last 
fading  light  of  evening  the  grey  tower  stood  like  a 
shepherd  watching  over  its  flock  among  the  grave- 
stones, below  which  rested  the  bodies  of  those  entrusted 
in  sure  and  certain  hope  to  its  hallowed  care.  Like 
all  strong,  hard-working  men,  Mr.  Challoner  was  far 
too  much  occupied  in  the  duties  of  his  strenuous  life 
to  give  much  thought  to  death,  except  as  to  some  dim, 
quiet  friend  whose  hand  some  day  he  would  take  with- 
out fear  or  regret.  But  how  terrible  death  could  be, 
and  how  terrible  it  would  be  to  him  if  through  care- 
lessness or  biassed  judgment  he  had  chosen  wrongly 
for  one  so  dear  to  him,  so  peculiarly  entrusted  to  his 
care.  How  terrible,  again,  would  be  that  quiet  friend 
if,  through  want  of  wideness  in  sympathy,  he  had  tried 
to  nip,  to  starve,  to  stifle  a  gift  with  which  God  had 
endowed  his  son. 

Then  suddenly  with  a  wave  of  bitterness  all  that 
he  had  planned  in  long,  sweet  day-dreams,  years  ago, 


122  THE    CHALLONEES 

for  Martin  filled  his  mind  as  the  harsh  salt-water  fills 
a  creek.  He  had  seen  him  a  scholar,  minute,  pains- 
taking, absorbed,  perfecting  himself  in  accuracy  and 
subtlety  of  mind  by  the  study  of  the  great  classical 
authors.  He  would  be  a  fellow  of  his  college,  and  his 
father,  so  he  pictured  to  himself,  would  live  over  again 
his  own  college-days,  which  perhaps  were  the  happiest 
in  his  life,  when  he  saw  Martin  seated  at  the  high- 
table  among  the  masters  of  learning,  or  in  professorial 
gown  crossing  the  dear  familiar  grass  of  the  quad- 
rangle to  the  grave  grey  chapel  on  summer  after- 
noons when  the  sun  made  jewels  of  the  western  panes, 
or  in  winter  when  the  soft,  mellow  glow  of  candles 
shone  dimly  by  the  dark  oak  stalls  and  scarcely 
reached  to  the  vaulted  fans  of  the  roof. 

Then  the  picture  took  large  lines.  With  the  wealth 
and  position  that  would  one  day  be  his,  there  was  no 
limit  to  the  influence  that  Martin  might  have  in  an 
England  which  even  now  seemed  to  him  to  be  dozing 
in  a  stupor  of  contented  unreligious,  unintellectual  en- 
joyment. There  was  need  of  a  scholar,  a  man  with  a 
great  position,  a  man  of  strong  Christian  faith  to  arise 
who,  with  a  life  unselfish  in  its  aims,  liberal,  charitable, 
encouraging  all  sorts  of  godly  learning  and  scholarship, 
should  give  to  the  world  a  strenuous,  intellectual  ideal 
again.  How  often  in  his  prayers  had  that  vision  risen 
before  him,  that  future  which  he  desired  so  eagerly 
for  his  son,  and  which,  so  he  believed,  was  humanly 
possible  for  him.  Chartries  should  be  again  what  it 
had  been  four  generations  ago,  the  centre  of  the 
scholarly,  intellectual  men  of  England.  The  accounts 
of  those  days  in  the  history  of  Chartries  read  to  him 
like  a  wonderful  true  fairy-story.    Three  or  four  times 


THE    CHALLONERS  123 

in  the  year  the  house  was  filled  by  his  great-grand- 
father with  men  of  learning,  and  after  breakfast  and 
morning  service  in  the  chapel  they  would  meet  and 
discuss  till  dinner-time  some  exquisite  point  of  scholar- 
ship or  hear  from  some  expert  of  the  latest  discoveries 
in  the  Roman  forum.  At  these  discussions  his  great- 
grandmother,  a  woman  of  culture  and  knowledge, 
had  always  been  present.  She  had  once  even  read  a 
paper  on  the  Elgin  marbles,  then  but  lately  come  to 
England,  in  which  with  a  marvellous  subtlety  and 
accuracy  of  observation  she  had  upheld  the  view,  in 
the  face  of  strong  attack,  that  they  were  Greek  origi- 
nals, not  Roman  copies.  This  and  all  other  papers 
read  there  were  preserved  among  the  printed  "  Horse 
aurese  Chartrienses,"  which  was  the  record  of  these 
gatherings. 

For  Martin,  then,  he  had  dreamed  a  life  like  that, 
— the  life  of  a  cultured,  scholarly,  Christian  gentleman, 
not  monkish,  but  with  a  brood  of  growing  children 
round  him,  busy  at  his  books,  busy  in  all  matters  of 
education,  instant  in  prayer,  and  a  churchman  staunch 
to  uphold  the  rights  and  the  glory  and  the  privileges 
of  the  Mother  of  his  faith.  Instead,  he  was  asked  to 
give  permission  that  Martin,  after  years  of  expensive 
education,  which  had  ended  in  utter  failure,  should  de- 
vote himself  to  music,  or  as  Mr.  Challoner  put  it  to 
himself,  to  playing  the  piano, — a  profession  which,  to 
his  mind,  was  akin  to  a  sort  of  mountebank's.  Nor  was 
that  all.  If  it  was  only  in  intellectual  attainment  that 
Martin  had  shewn  himself  desultory  and  idle  his  father 
would,  it  is  true,  have  deeply  regretted  it ;  but  it  would 
have  been  as  nothing  compared  to  the  anxiety  he  felt 
with  regard  to  that  slackness  and  indolence  of  charac- 


124  THE    CHALLONEES 

ter  which  he  thought  he  saw  in  him.  Left  to  himself, 
he  would  lounge  the  day  away,  not  only  without  ac- 
quiring knowledge  of  any  kind,  but  without  a  thought 
as  to  the  strengthening  and  building  up  of  his  own 
character.  He  would  scribble  amusing  sketches  by 
the  score,  play  on  the  piano  by  the  hour,  or,  as  like  as 
not,  lie  on  the  grass  and  smoke,  in  purposeless  waste  of 
these  infinitely  precious  hours  of  youth.  Had  he  ever 
shewn  interest  in  matters  naval,  military,  or  political, 
his  father  would  gladly  have  seen  him  a  soldier  or  a 
member  of  Parliament.  But  he  was  purposeless,  desul- 
tory, without  aims  or  interests,  and  so  utterly  unlike 
himself  in  every  point  of  character  that  he  could 
scarcely  believe  he  was  his  son.  And  this  estimate 
was  no  new  one;  ever  since  Martin  was  a  little  boy, 
through  his  school  life  and  through  his  three  years  at 
the  University,  he  had  noticed  the  same  drifting  weak- 
ness, the  same  tendency  to  take  any  amount  of  trouble 
to  save  trouble.  Nothing  had  made  any  impression  on 
him, — not  his  confirmation,  nor  his  growing  respon- 
sibilities as  he  rose  in  the  school,  nor  the  duties  attach- 
ing to  the  sixth  form  when  he  was  dragged  up  into  it, 
nor  the  widened  life  at  Cambridge.  It  was  all  one  to 
him.  He  had  the  pleasant  smile  when  things  went  well, 
the  yawn  when  effort  was  demanded  of  him,  the  eter- 
nal drifting  towards  the  piano. 

All  this  passed  through  his  mind  with  the  rapidity 
of  long  and  bitterly  familiar  thought. 

"They  all  urge  me  to  do  it,  Clara,"  he  said;  "yet 
they  don't  know  him  as  I  do,  and  they  are  in  no  posi- 
tion of  responsibility  with  regard  to  him.  I  can't  see 
my  way  at  all.  It  is  no  use  his  continuing  to  waste 
his  time  at  Cambridge, — and  yet  London  for  my  poor, 


THE    CHALLONERS  125 

rudderless  Martin !  What  influences  may  he  not  come 
under  ?  Who  is  Rusoff,  of  whom  Rupert  speaks  ?  But 
I  must  settle.  It  is  no  use  putting  off  a  decision  that 
has  to  be  made." 

He  turned  away  with  a  sigh  from  the  window. 

"  In  any  case,  he  had  better  come  home  for  a  day 
or  two  before  he  goes  up  to  Cambridge,"  he  said,  "  so 
that  I  can  talk  it  all  over  with  him.  In  fact,  they  had 
both  better  come  home.  They  have  been  in  town  a 
fortnight, — a  fortnight  of  pure  amusement.  Besides, 
the  Parish  library  wants  looking  after." 

"  I  can  manage  that,  if  you  would  like  Helen  to 
stop  a  little  longer,"  said  his  sister. 

"  No,  dear,  your  hands  are  full  enough  already. 
Besides,  Rupert's  letter  has  made  me  altogether  a  little 
uneasy.    It  is  time  they  both  came  home." 


CHAPTER    VI 

Helen  was  seated  at  a  big  plain  deal  table  in  the 
village  Room  with  a  large  array  of  volumes  in  hos- 
pital spread  in  front  of  her.  Some  wanted  covers, 
— the  cover  peculiar  to  the  books  in  the  library  of 
the  Room  was  brown  holland  of  a  strangely  discour- 
aging hue,  stitched  over  the  back  and  sides,  and 
turned  down  inside;  others  wanted  stamp-paper  over 
torn  edges,  and  most  wanted  labels,  bearing  the  title, 
gummed  on  to  their  backs.  True,  the  very  magni- 
tude of  the  repairs  needed  was  evidence  that  the 
library  was  at  any  rate  appreciated  by  the  parish- 
ioners, but  the  thought  that  her  nimble  hands  were 
employed  on  a  useful  work  did  not  at  the  present 
moment  succeed  in  consoling  her  for  the  extremely 
distasteful  nature  of  the  occupation.  Dispiriting,  too, 
were  her  surroundings.  On  the  walls  hung  the  hate- 
ful maps  of  Hampshire  and  the  Holy  Land,  scientific 
diagrams  of  the  construction  of  flowers,  and  several 
charts  of  geological  strata,  shewing  old  sandstone, 
new  sandstone,  blue  lias  in  which  diamonds  occur, 
and  yellow  bands  of  auriferous  reef.  A  large,  black, 
cast-iron  stove  stood  in  one  corner,  a  bagatelle-board 
with  torn  cloth  and  tipless  cues — these,  too,  would 
have  to  be  mended  after  the  library — occupied  an- 
other table,  and  standing  against  the  wall  were  low 
deal  bookcases.  The  floor  was  covered  with  an  affair 
of  oil-cloth  pattern  and  of  corky  texture,  so  inde- 
structible as  to  be  practically  eternal,  and  a  harmonium, 
126 


THE    CHALLONERS  127 

happily  not  at  all  eternal  but  in  advanced  senile  decay 
of  cypher  and  dumb-notes  and  strange  noises  like  a 
death-rattle,  stood  near  the  door.  In  spite  of  the 
wide-open  windows,  the  characteristic  smell  of  the 
Room  hung  heavy  and  stale  on  the  air  in  this  oppres- 
sive heat  of  an  August  day. 

Helen  had  been  back  from  London  some  three 
weeks,  but  in  spite  of  her  endeavours  to  settle  down 
again  into  the  village  life,  she  had  not  been  very 
successful  in  doing  so.  Duties  which  before  had 
seemed  tolerable  enough  had  become  frightfully  tedi- 
ous, while  those  which  before  had  seemed  tedious  had 
become  intolerable.  Only  the  evening  before  her 
father  had  spoken  to  her  about  her  general  behaviour 
a  propos  of  what  he  called  the  "  falling-off"  of  the 
village  choir.  This  meant  that  on  the  previous  Sun- 
day the  organist  had  played  one  tune  and  the  choir 
had  sung  another,  which  had  displeased  his  unmusical 
ear,  though  Martin,  who  had  been  home  from  Cam- 
bridge for  the  Sunday,  had  listened  with  rapt  atten- 
tion, and  said  to  Helen  that  he  thought  it  extremely 
Wagnerian.  This  opinion,  it  may  be  remarked,  he 
had  not  expressed  to  his  father. 

"  I  am  afraid  your  pleasure-trip  to  London  has  un- 
settled you,  Helen,"  her  father  had  said,  "  and  you 
should  really  take  yourself  in  hand,  and  make  up  your 
mind  to  recapture  your  habits  of  industry  again.  One 
is  often  disposed  to  be  impatient  with  what  one  calls 
'  little  duties,'  but,  dear  girl,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  little  duty.  There  is  no  such  scale  possible;  duty 
is  duty,  and  it  is  all  great ;  and  your  eager  and  willing 
performance  of  all  those  things  which  may  seem  to 
you  small  is  just  as  much  a  part  of  real  life  as  to 


128  THE    CHALLONERS 

the  emperor  the  discharge  of  the  cares  of  his  empire. 
For  instance,  the  hymn  at  the  morning  service  on 
Sunday " 

"  But  it  isn't  my  fault  if  Mr.  Milton  plays  the  wrong 
hymn,"  said  Helen. 

"  But  it  ought  to  be  impossible  that  such  accidents 
should  occur,"  said  her  father.  "  You  should  think, 
dear  Helen,  in  Whose  Honour  it  is  that  we  stand  up 
to  sing  in  church,  and  that  knowledge  constantly  with 
you,  you  will  find  must  elevate  the  smallest  duty  and 
raise  the  most  insignificant  piece  of  work  into  an  act 
of  praise  and  worship." 

"  I  will  try,  father,"  said  she. 

"  I  know  you  will.  Your  holiday,  all  the  mirth  and 
innocent  pleasure  you  have  had  in  London,  ought  to 
help  you  to  it.  Those  times  of  refreshment  are  given 
us  not  to  make  us  discontented  with  our  work,  but  to  en- 
able us  to  bring  to  it  a  rested  and  more  active  industry." 

But  this  morning  it  seemed  to  have  brought  to 
Helen  nothing  of  the  kind,  but  only  a  rested  and 
more  active  doubt  as  to  whether  any  of  the  things 
that  filled  her  day  could  possibly,  in  the  doing,  be 
good  for  her,  or  when  done  for  others.  The  "  Sunday 
Magazine,"  for  instance,  of  which  at  this  moment  she 
was  pasting  the  torn  pages,  seemed  to  her  to  be  singu- 
larly ill  adapted  to  do  anything  for  anybody.  There 
was  an  essay  on  the  habits  of  mice,  another  on  the 
temptations  of  engine-drivers ;  answers  to  correspond- 
ents dealt  with  lotions  for  the  hair  and  the  best  treat- 
ment for  burns ;  while  in  the  forefront  of  each  number 
was  an  instalment  of  a  serial  story  connected  with 
incredible  ranches  and  mining  in  California.  But,  in 
spite  of  her  conscientious  doubts,  her  fingers  moved 


THE    CHALLONERS  129 

apace,  and  the  stack  of  healed  and  mended  volumes 
at  her  right  hand  grew  quickly  tall. 

She  worked  on  till  about  twelve  without  pause,  and 
then  pushed  back  her  chair  and  began  carrying  the 
mended  volumes  to  their  shelves.  If  only  she  could 
have  entertained  any  hopes  as  to  the  utility  of  what 
she  was  doing  she  would  have  accepted  her  occupa- 
tion with  cheerfulness,  for  her  nature  was  one  of  that 
practical  kind  which  finds  almost  any  pursuit,  so  long 
as  it  has  definite  and  profitable  aim,  congenial.  This 
afternoon  again  she  would  have  to  take  choir-prac- 
tice in  the  Room,  and  even  with  the  eager  desire  to 
find  "  good  in  everything"  she  could  not  see  who 
profited  by  the  cacophonous  result.  And  to  add  to 
her  labours,  the  ill-inspired  ambitions  of  Mr.  Milton 
had  caused  him  to  learn  with  infinite  pains  and  groan- 
ings  of  the  organ  in  evening  hours  nothing  less  than 
an  anthem  for  the  Harvest  Festival,  and  it  remained 
for  her  to  teach  the  choir.  Hours  would  go  to  the 
repetition  of  it  before  that  unmelodious  festival;  and 
even  if  it  had  been  possible  that  relentless  practice 
could  make  the  choir  tolerably  secure  of  their  notes 
(which  it  could  not),  yet  the  result,  even  if  it  were 
faultlessly  performed,  would  be  deplorable,  since  it 
was  an  anthem  of  that  peculiarly  depressing  kind 
produced  by  minor  organists,  contained  a  fugal  pas- 
sage which  was  not  a  fugue,  and,  musically  speaking, 
was  of  the  most  suburban  and  jerry-built  construction. 

Helen  pushed  back  her  hair,  and,  slightly  amused 
at  the  greyness  of  her  own  thoughts,  smiled  to  herself 
as  she  went  backward  and  forward  between  table 
and  bookcase.  If  only  she  had  some  one,  another 
sister,  to  share  in  these  farthing  woes  of  a  rector's 

9 


130  THE    CHALLONERS 

daughter,  she  could  have  laughed  at  them;  she  and 
a  friend,  at  any  rate,  could  have  read  each  other 
striking  extracts  from  the  mended  leaves  of  the  "  Sun- 
day Magazine."  Then  suddenly  she  heard  a  step  on 
the  gravel  outside,  a  step  not  her  father's,  but  strangely 
familiar,  and  the  door  opened. 

"  Why,  Lord  Yorkshire,"  she  said.  "  How  delight- 
ful!   Do  come  in." 

Frank  had  the  enviable  faculty  of  keeping  compara- 
tively cool  on  very  hot  days,  just  as  on  occasions  heat- 
ing and  stirring  to  the  spirit  his  nature  seldom  boiled. 
But  to-day  he  was  much  hotter  spiritually  than  physi- 
cally, and  Helen's  genuine  pleasure  to  see  him,  which 
shone  in  her  eyes  and  her  smile  and  vibrated  in  her 
voice,  did  not  reduce  this  genial  heat. 

"  I  have  not  done  wrong,"  he  asked,  "  to  come  and 
interrupt  you?  They  told  me  at  the  vicarage  that 
you  were  here." 

"  No,  indeed,  you  have  not,"  said  she,  shaking 
hands.  "  Really,  I  was  longing  for  an  interruption. 
Look!"  and  she  pointed  to  the  titles  of  her  mended 
stack  of  books. 

He  glanced  at  them  with  a  smile. 

"  Really,  without  undue  conceit,  I  don't  wonder," 
he  said.  "And  so  this  is  the  Room  you  told  me  about 
in  London?" 

His  eyes  wandered  round,  looking  at  the  maps  and 
the  colored  chart  of  geological  formation,  at  the  har- 
monium, the  bagatelle-board.  Then  suddenly  all  the 
girl's  loyalty  to  her  father  rose  in  her. 

"  Ah,  don't  laugh,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  bear  that 
you  should  laugh." 

He  looked  at  her  quite  gravely. 


THE    CHALLONERS  131 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  he  said.  "  Here,  as  in  that  map 
of  geological  strata,  there  is  an  auriferous  reef.  There 
is  to  be  found  a  little  belt  of  gold  in  everything  which 
we  may  have  to  do,  as  long  as  it  is  not — not  nasty. 
The  trouble  sometimes  is  to  find  it.  Haven't  you 
struck  it  this  morning?" 

Helen  sat  down  with  a  little  sigh. 

"  No.  Help  me  to  dig  a  little,"  she  said.  "  Look 
at  the  soil !     '  Sunday  Magazine.'     A  serial.     Then 

*  Round    the   tea-table,'    with    a    receipt    for   muffins. 

*  Muffins'  is  torn.  I  must  mend  it.  Missionary  work 
among  the  aborigines  of  Somaliland.  Oh,  dear !  What 
has  it  all  got  to  do  with  me — this  me?"  she  cried. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  not  yet  mended  enough  to  find 
out,"  he  suggested. 

"  That  is  possible.  All  the  same  I  have  mended  a 
good  deal.  Now  I  am  going  to  talk  '  Lady  Sunning- 
dale'  for  two  minutes;  at  least  there  are  fifty  distinct 
and  separate  things  I  want  to  say  in  one  breath.  First 
of  all,  please  smoke;  the  Room  smells  of  Sunday- 
school.  Yes,  and  give  me  one, — if  my  father  appears 
suddenly  you  must  say  it  was  you.  Next,  I  suppose 
you  have  come  from  Fareham.  How  is  Lady  Sun- 
ingdale?  And  you'll  stop  for  lunch,  of  course.  Next, 
Martin.  He  is  going  to  leave  Cambridge  at  the  end 
of  the  long.  He  is  going  to  settle  in  London  in  the 
autumn  and  study  under  Monsieur  RusofT.  Oh,  why 
wasn't  I  born  a  boy?  I  suppose  you  can't  tell  me. 
So  once  again  about  Martin,  thanks.  What  a  good 
time  we  had  in  London !  I  have  never  enjoyed  a  fort- 
night more.     Ls  every  one  as  kind  as  that  always?" 

"  I  think  they  always  will  be  to  you,"  said  he. 
"  You  two  took  London  by  storm.     We  all  went  into 


132  THE    CHALLONERS 

mourning  and  retirement  into  the  country  when  you 
left." 

Helen  laughed. 

"  You  don't  look  as  if  any  grief  particularly 
weighed  on  you,"  she  said, 

"  Clearly  not  now,"  said  he. 

This  was  a  little  clumsily  obvious,  and  it  made  her 
for  the  moment  slightly  embarrassed.  She  dabbed  a 
label  somewhat  crooked  on  to  the  back  of  a  work 
about  missionary  enterprise. 

"  Can  you  write  a  legible  hand,  Lord  Yorkshire  ?" 
she  said.  "  If  so,  and  if  you  will  be  kind  enough, 
please  write  '  Sunday  Magazine'  very  clearly  on  twelve 
labels,  with  ordinal  numbers,  one  to  twelve,  below  the 
title.  And  when  I've  pasted  them  on,  I  shall  have 
finished,  and  we'll  go  out.  Martin  isn't  here,  I  am 
afraid.  He  is  up  at  Cambridge  till  the  end  of  the 
month." 

Frank  obediently  took  a  pen.  He  had  suffered  a 
slight  repulse. 

"  A  notable  charm  of  life,"  he  remarked,  "  is  its 
extreme  unexpectedness.  If  I  had  been  told  by  a 
chiromantist  that  I  should  shortly  be  writing  the 
words  '  Sunday  Magazine' — is  that  legible  enough  ? — 
twelve  times  over  with  numerals  beneath  I  should 
have  distrusted  everything  else  he  said.  Yet,  here 
we  go." 

Helen  laughed.  She  was  not  quite  certain  whether 
she  was  pleased  or  not  at  the  success  with  which  she 
had  turned  the  conversation  on  to  topics  so  alien  from 
herself  as  the  "  Sunday  Magazine." 

"  Quite  so,"  she  said.  "  And  if  I  had  been  told 
that  I  should  be  telling  you  to  do  so,  I  should  have 


THE    CHALLONERS  133 

considered  it  too  wildly  improbable  to  be  even  funny. 
Yet,  as  you  say,  here  we  go.     Oh!" 

Her  ear  had  caught  the  sound  of  a  step  outside,  and 
with  a  quick  sweep  of  her  arm  she  threw  her  cigarette 
out  of  the  window. 

"  It's  you,  remember,"  she  said,  with  whispered 
emphasis. 

Frank's  cigarette,  however,  was  still  unlit,  but  he 
obligingly  remedied  this,  and  hurriedly  blew  out  a 
cloud  of  smoke  and  silent  laughter.  Next  moment 
the  vicar  entered.  He  paused  for  a  second  on  the 
threshold,  his  nostrils  surprised  by  this  unusual  aroma 
in  the  Room,  but  Frank  instantly  rose. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Challoner?"  he  said.  "I 
called  at  the  vicarage,  but  every  one  was  out.  But 
hopes  were  held  out  to  me  that  I  might  find  some  of 
you  here,  so  I  came.  And  behold  me,"  he  added, 
rather  felicitously,  "  a  lay  helper,"  and  he  pointed  to 
his  half-written  labels. 

The  vicar's  somewhat  grim  face  relaxed.  There 
was  a  neatness  about  Frank's  speech  which  his  classi- 
cal tastes  approved. 

"  It  is  too  kind  of  you.  Lord  Yorkshire,"  he  said. 
"  Helen  has  impressed  you  into  the  service,  I  sup- 
pose. But — I  am  sure  you  will  excuse  me — would 
you  mind  finishing  your  cigarette  outside?  Our  rules 
about  smoking  in  the  Room  are  stringent.  You  will 
excuse  me." 

His  eye  glanced  rather  sternly,  as  he  spoke,  at 
Helen.  This  was  one  of  the  laxities  he  deplored  in 
his  children.  She  knew  quite  well  that  smoking  was 
not  allowed  in  the  Room.  The  most  infinitesimal 
moral  courage  on  her  part  could  have  stopped  it.    And 


134  THE    CHALLONERS 

he  himself  knew  how  she  would  excuse  herself,  saying 
that  she  did  not  think  it  mattered  in  the  morning 
when  there  was  no  one  there.  It  was  a  rule  of  the 
place,  however.     He  had  made  it ;   she  knew  it. 

Frank  instantly  threw  his  cigarette  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am  afraid  I  never 
asked  leave." 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  difficulties  we  have  with 
even  quite  the  small  boys  of  the  village,"  continued 
Mr.  Challoner.  "  Children  of  eight  and  nine  think 
it  manly  to  pull  at  an  inch  of  bad  tobacco.  So  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  even  mentally  accuse  me  of  faddi- 
ness. I  gave  up  smoking  myself  entirely  for  that 
reason.  You  are  too  kind  to  help  my  daughter.  You 
will  lunch  with  us,  of  course." 

"  Thanks,  very  much.  I  came  over  in  the  motor 
from  Fareham,  and  Miss  Helen  had  already  been  so 
good  as  to  suggest " 

"  Of  course  Martin  is  away  from  home,  I  am  sorry 
to  say.  Helen  has  no  doubt  told  you  what  has  been 
decided." 

He  glanced  again  at  her  as  her  quick,  nimble  fingers 
plied  the  work  which  an  hour  ago  had  seemed  so  dis- 
tasteful. Certainly  now  there  was  in  her  no  trace  of 
that  listlessness  and  want  of  application  and  vitality 
that  a  few  days  before  had  occasioned  his  loving  re- 
bukes. She  was  all  vivid  and  alert ;  the  fresh,  bright 
colour  shone  like  a  sunlit  banner  in  her  cheeks,  and, 
as  he  looked,  he  realised  for  the  first  time  this  was 
no  longer  "  my  little  girl,"  but  a  woman  in  her  own 
rig-ht.  Then  like  an  echo  to  this  came  the  thought 
that  he  was  not  the  proprietor  of  his  children.     Ad- 


THE    CHALLONERS  135 

viser,  corrector,  pruner,  cultivator  he  might  be,  but 
he  could  not  make  nor  stop  growth  if  "  my  little  girl" 
decided  otherwise. 

This  was  something  of  a  shock,  though  only  mo- 
mentary, and  there  was  no  perceptible  pause  before 
he  spoke  again. 

"  So  you  will  bring  Lord  Yorkshire  home  to  lunch, 
Helen,"  he  said.  "  I  must  go  on  to  the  village.  I 
only  looked  in  on  my  way.  Half-past  one,  Lord  York- 
shire. And  afterwards  you  must  try  a  cigar  that  I 
can  give  you.  A  year  ago  they  wanted  keeping,  and 
now  they  have  got  it." 

For  a  little  while  after  he  had  left  neither  spoke. 
A  label  had  been  put  on  crookedly  and  required  read- 
justment ;  something  else  also  had  gone  crookedly, 
and  Helen  had  to  readjust  that,  too. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  must  tell  him  I  had  been  smoking," 
she  said.     "  Oh,  dear,  what  a  bore !" 

"  Is  not  that  too  transcendental  honesty?"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  flashed  their  wide  light  into  his. 

"  Ah,  no ;  there  is  neither  less  nor  greater  in  hon- 
esty," she  said.  "  It  is  a  great  bore  to  be  honest.  I 
wish  I  wasn't.  No,  I  don't  wish  that.  It  is  one  of 
the  uncomfortable  things  which  one  can't  get  on  with- 
out." 

Suddenly  he  knew  that  a  moment  which  for  weeks 
had  been  approaching  slowly  rushed  into  the  imme- 
diate future.  He  sat  upright  in  his  chair  and  quite 
unconsciously  moved  it  nearer  hers.  His  upper  teeth 
closed  on  his  lower  lip,  dragging  it  upward  till  it  was 
white.  Some  mad  current  of  blood  sang  in  his  ears, 
some  sudden  mistiness  obscured  his  eyes,  and  she  was 
but  a  dim,  wavering  form  close  to  him. 


136  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Honesty !  honesty !"  he  said.     "  Helen !" 

A  long-drawn  breath  rose  in  her  bosom,  filling  it, 
filling  her,  filling  everything.  A  "  Sunday  Magazine" 
dropped  from  her  hand,  and  she  stood  up.  He  too 
stood,  and  they  faced  each  other  for  a  long  moment, 
and  the  new  certainty  became  the  only  certainty  there 
was. 

"  Oh,  are  you  sure,  are  you  sure?"  she  cried. 

And  there  was  no  more  need  of  words  just  then. 

"  Since  you  took  the  hare  out  of  the  trap,"  she 
said.     "  I  think  I  loved  you  for  that." 

"  Since  you  caught  my  finger  in  the  trap " 

"  And  it  bled,"  said  she. 

"  But  you  bound  it  up  for  me." 

She  raised  her  face  and  held  him  by  the  shoulders, 
arms  outstretched. 

"  And  I  remember  saying  to  Martin  that  this  was 
the  sort  of  room  in  which  nothing  nice  could  happen. 
Oh,  Frank,  how  has  it  happened?  How  has  it  hap- 
pened?" she  said. 

"  I  don't  know  how,  my  darling,  but  I  know  why." 

"Why,  then?" 

"  Because  it  had  to  happen  as  far  as  I  was  concerned. 
Because  it  was  you,  in  fact.  How  could  it  have  been 
otherwise?" 

Her  eyes  dropped  a  moment,  and  then  looked  full 
at  him  again. 

"  Is  it  real  ?"  she  asked.  "  And  if  it  hadn't  hap- 
pened, what  would  have  become  of  us?  Supposing 
you  had  not  said  '  Helen'  ?" 

"What  else  could  I  have  said?" 

"  You  might  have  said  nothing." 


THE    CHALLONERS  137 

"  Nothing  ?  You  and  I  here  together,  and  noth- 
ing?    I  had  been  saying  nothing  too  long,"  he  cried. 

"  No,  not  too  long.  It  has  all  been  perfect.  And 
— and  the  '  Sunday  Magazine,'  and — and  twelve 
labels,  each  with  their  numbers.  Oh,  I  surrender," 
she  said. 

"  When  you  have  utterly  conquered?" 

"  Yes,  both.     And  both  of  us." 

"  There  is  only  one." 

It  was  no  descent  to  return  to  the  unfinished  work; 
the  business  of  label-pasting  rather  was  illuminated 
and  made  glorious,  the  putting  of  the  books  back  in 
the  shelves  was  a  procession  of  love.  Then  came  the 
return  to  the  vicarage  under  the  benediction  of  the 
sun  and  the  intrusion  of  the  presence  of  others ;  but 
as  some  telegraph  from  lover  to  lover  throbs  across 
hundreds  of  miles  of  arid  and  desert  country  that 
does  not  know  what  secret  and  blissful  tenderness  has 
passed  over  it,  so  from  each  to  the  other  passed  un- 
noticed glances  that  sent  the  electric  current  to  and 
fro,  and  the  words  of  common  life  were  to  them  a 
cypher  charged  with  intimate  meaning. 

It  had  been  settled  between  the  two  that  her  father 
should  be  told  at  once,  and  accordingly,  after  lunch, 
when  he  went  into  his  study  to  get  Frank  the  prom- 
ised cigar,  with  a  view  to  coffee  on  the  shady  croquet- 
lawn,  the  latter  followed  him,  while  the  two  ladies 
went  out,  and  told  him. 

"  It  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life,  Mr.  Challoner," 
he  said,  very  simply.  "  Your  daughter  has  accepted 
my  devotion  and  love." 

Mr.  Challoner  turned  to  him  quickly. 


138  THE    CHALLONERS 

"Helen?"  he  said.  "You?  Lord  Yorkshire,  this 
is  most  unexpected.  But  I  am  charmed,  dehghted,  at 
your  news.  And  I  risk  the  imputation  of  a  father's 
partiality  when  I  say  that  I  congratulate  you  most 
heartily." 

He  shook  hands  warmly  with  the  young  man,  and 
an  emotion,  very  deep  and  heart-felt,  vibrated  in  his 
voice. 

"  May  the  blessings  of  God  be  on  you  both,"  he 
said. 

For  a  single  moment  Frank  felt  as  if  the  ther- 
mometer had  dropped  suddenly,  but  the  sensation  was 
so  instantaneous  that  before  he  could  analyze  it  it 
had  passed,  and  Mr.  Challoner  still  held  his  hand  in 
his  strong,  firm  grasp. 

"  And  I  think,  I  believe,  she  is  a  very  fortunate 
girl,"  he  added.  "  When — when  did  you  speak  to 
her?" 

"  This  morning  only.  We  settled  to  tell  you  at 
once." 

"  Thank  you.     That  was  right  of  you.     How  the 

years  pass;  why  it  seems  only  yesterday Well, 

well, — let  us  join  them  outside.  Ah,  a  cigar  for  you, 
I  declare  I  had  forgotten." 

They  crossed  the  lawn  together,  and  as  they  ap- 
proached the  group  of  chairs  underneath  the  box- 
hedge,  Mr.  Challoner  quickened  his  step  a  little  and 
advanced  to  Helen  with  hands  outstretched. 

"  Helen,  my  dearest  girl,"  he  said. 

The  glorified  hours  of  the  golden  afternoon  passed 
too  quickly.  Parish  work  soon  claimed  the  vicar, 
who,  as  he  passed  through  the  village,  gave  notice 


THE   CHALLONERS  139 

in  the  school  that  the  choir-practice  was  postponed  till 
the  next  day;  Aunt  Clara  betook  herself  to  district- 
visiting,  and  the  two  were  left  alone  again  while  the 
shadows  began  to  grow  tall  on  the  grass.  Sweet 
words  and  sweeter  silence  sang  duets  together,  and 
from  talk  and  silence  they  learned  each  other.  For 
their  falling  in  love  had  been  an  instinctive  inevitable 
thing,  and  now  that  the  gracious  deed  v^^as  accom- 
plished, they  explored  each  other's  nature  in  the  ex- 
cellent brightness  of  the  love-light. 

"  Lazy,  frightfully  lazy,"  said  he.  "  Will  you  take 
that  in  hand  for  me?  With  the  unaccountable  delu- 
sion, by  the  way,  that  I  am  extremely  hard-worked 
I  lie  in  bed  in  the  morning,  and  groan  at  the  thought 
of  all  that  I  shall  have  to  do  before  I  go  to  bed  again. 
After  a  very  long  time  I  get  up — and  don't  do  it. 
Helen,  how  could  you  have  been  in  the  world  all  these 
years  and  I  not  know  it?" 

"  Oh,  what  does  it  matter  now?  For  here  we  are, 
and  for  all  the  rest  of  the  years  we  shall  both  know 
it.  Yes,  you  shall  get  up  at  seven  every  morning.  I 
will  wake  you  myself." 

"  That  will  be  nice.  And  I  needn't  get  up  at  once? 
And  what  am  I  to  do  when  I  do  get  up?" 

"  Why,  all  the  things  you  lie  groaning  about,"  she 
said. 

"  But  there  aren't  any,  really.  At  least  nothing  to 
groan  about." 

"  Now  you're  talking  nonsense.  I  don't  mind, 
though.  You  talked  a  good  deal  of  nonsense  on  that 
Sunday,  the  hare-Sunday,  you  and  Lady  Sunningdale. 
How  is  she?" 

"  I  forget.     I  forget  everything  but — this !" 


140  THE    CHALLONERS 

She  bent  towards  him. 

"  Am  I  really  all  that  to  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  all.     More  than  all." 

After  a  while  she  spoke  again. 

"  And  you  have  no  back-thought?  There  is  no  dark 
place  at  all,  no  shadow  of  any  kind?" 

He  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Yes,  a  possible  shadow,"  he  said. 

"Religion?" 

"Yes;  it  had  occurred  to  you,  too,  then.  What 
do  you  expect?" 

Helen  sat  with  her  chin  resting  on  her  hand  a  mo- 
ment without  replying. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  at  length.  "  Don't  let 
us  think  about  it  just  now,  Frank.  Let  this  afternoon 
be  perfect.  But  I  can  tell  you  this,  that  though  it  may 
possibly  be  very  painful,  it  will  make  no  difference  to 

me.     I  shall  be  very  sorry — very,  very  sorry,  but 

That  '  but'  is  you,  if  you  understand." 

"  Thank  you,  my  darling,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Challoner  carried  a  very  thankful  heart  with 
him  as  he  went  on  his  various  errands  that  afternoon. 
To  see  Helen  happily  married  was  a  constant  desire 
and  prayer  of  his,  and  though  he  would  with  willing- 
ness and  thankfulness  have  given  her  to  the  keeping 
of  any  good  man  who  could  support  her  and  a  family, 
he  did  not  attempt  to  disguise  from  himself  the  satis- 
faction he  felt  at  her  having  made  what  is  vulgarly 
called  "  a  great  match."  She  had  the  gifts  which 
should  enable  her  to  fill  a  great  position,  and  to  play 
a  great  part  worthily  was  a  bigger  and  a  finer  thing, 
— though  he  had  said  "  duty  was  duty  and  there  is 


THE    CHALLONERS  141 

neither  less  nor  greater"  than  to  work  on  a  smaller 
scale.  More  than  that,  he  had,  with  all  his  personal 
unworldliness,  a  good  deal  of  pride  of  race,  which 
Frank  with  his  undeniable  birth  and  breeding  gratified. 
For  the  man  himself,  also,  he  felt  a  very  decided  liking 
and  respect;  he  was  an  admirable  landlord,  in  spite 
of  his  avowed  laziness ;  he  was  generally  considered 
to  get  through  the  day's  work  with  credit.  In  the 
House  of  Lords,  also,  he  had  already  achieved  a  cer- 
tain reputation  for  eminent  common  sense ;  and  though 
to  advocates  of  extremes  his  speeches  might  appear 
commonplace,  that  was  rather  the  fault  of  those  who 
held  an  extreme  view.  In  other  words,  he  lent  his 
wealth  and  position  to  the  support  of  moderation, 
much  as  Lord  Flintshire  had  done. 

Another  matter  dearer  to  Mr.  Challoner's  heart 
than  the  obscurities  of  fiscal  affairs  was  that  Frank 
was,  if  not  a  pillar,  at  any  rate  a  very  sound  piece  of 
the  fabric  in  the  twin-towered  building  called  "  Church 
and  State."  His  patronage  was  always  given  to  clergy 
of  moderate  views  who  did  not  indulge  in  what  Mr. 
Challoner  called  "  idolatrous  and  Romish  practices," 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  always  voted  dead  against 
any  attempt  to  subtract  from  the  power  or  position 
of  the  English  Church  as  by  law  established.  "  A 
staunch  Churchman,"  said  Mr.  Challoner  to  himself, 
as  he  walked  with  his  long,  rapid  strides  through  the 
pathway  hedged  about  with  the  yellowing  corn. 

For  the  time  his  disappointments  about  Martin  were 
forgotten.  There,  it  is  true,  his  dreams  about  his 
boy's  future  had  been  dispelled  by  a  rude  and  bitter 
awakening,  but  here,  at  any  rate,  was  something  which 
he  had   never   dreamed   being   realised,   and   without 


142  THE    CHALLONERS 

overestimating  the  force  and  value  of  education  and 
the  influences  which  spring  from  environment  and 
mode  of  Hfe,  he  beheved  that  Helen  would  assuredly- 
live  her  mature  and  wider  life  on  the  lines  in  which 
she  had  been  brought  up.  So  in  this  marriage  he  saw 
a  strong  weapon  forged  of  steel  and  wielded  by  a 
loyal  hand  in  defence  of  his  mistress  the  Church.  He 
knew  well  the  immense  power  which  in  England  a 
territorial  magnate  is  possessed  of;  how  by  the  mere 
fact  of  his  wealth  and  position  he  can  control  the 
course  of  wide  issues.  Hitherto  Frank  had  done  just 
that;  he  had  always  ranged  himself  on  the  side  of 
education  and  religion,  or  rather  he  had  ranged  the 
inert  weight  of  all  he  represented  there,  while  he  him- 
self had  keenly  pursued  the  artistic  things  of  life.  But 
now  Helen,  with  all  the  influence  of  her  home  and 
upbringing  strong  within  her,  would  come  to  add  life 
to  this  solid  weight,  making  it  an  active  and  potent 
instead  of  a  passive  instrument  of  good.  He  almost 
envied  the  girl, — such  opportunity  was  given  to  few 
only,  and  on  her  would  the  responsibility  and  the  glory- 
rest. 

His  district-visiting  that  afternoon  had  taken  him 
into  the  farthest  limits  of  his  parish,  and  a  three-mile 
walk  into  the  glories  of  the  sunset  lay  before  him 
when  he  turned  homewards.  A  flush  of  colour,  vivid 
and  delicate  as  the  cheek  of  youth,  incarnadined  the 
west,  over  which  a  few  light  fleeces  of  crimson  cloud 
hung  like  flames,  and  further  up  from  the  horizon  a 
belt  of  aqueous  green  melted  into  the  transparent  blue 
of  the  sky  overhead.  The  sun  had  already  sunk  be- 
hind the  tawny  line  of  swelling  down,  and  the  water- 
meadows  by  the  Itchen,  where  his  path  lay,  were  full 


THE    CHALLONERS  143 

of  dusky  and  deepening  shadows.  Right  down  the 
centre  ran  the  lucent  stream,  reflecting  on  its  surface 
the  blue  and  the  green  and  the  flush  of  the  sunset  sky. 
Rooks  cawed  their  way  homeward  to  where  the  elms 
of  Chartries  showed  black  against  the  luminous  west, 
and  to  the  left  of  the  long  gabled  faqade  of  house-roof 
rose  the  grey  gothic  tower  of  his  church,  the  lodestar 
of  his  life,  the  mistress  of  his  heart.  That  was  the 
realest  thing  in  all  the  world  to  him;  all  that  was 
beautiful  at  this  magic  hour  in  earth  and  sky  was  but 
a  path  that  conducted  his  soul  thither ;  all  that  he  loved 
on  earth  was  only  the  shadow  and  faint  similitude  of 
the  great  love  of  his  which  centred  there.  Nothing 
had  any  real  existence  except  in  its  relation  to  that; 
everything  else  was  but  an  avenue  to  an  anti-chamber 
in  the  house  of  many  mansions.  And  as  his  eye  first 
caught  sight  of  the  grey,  cross-surmounted  tower,  he 
stopped  a  moment,  uncovered  his  head,  and  with  closed 
eyes  stood  still  in  a  Presence  more  poignantly  there 
with  him  than  any.  Through  his  impatience  with 
ways  and  methods  not  his  own,  through  his  intoler- 
ance of  that  of  which  he  had  no  ability  of  comprehen- 
sion, through  his  instinctive  dismissal  of  all  that 
seemed  to  him  unessential  in  life,  whether  it  was  the 
benediction  of  the  evening  hour,  the  piano-playing  of 
Martin,  the  sweet  eyes  of  Helen,  through  all,  at  mo- 
ments like  these,  when  his  human  emotions  were  most 
aroused,  his  view  pierced  triumphant  and  saw  only 
the  cross  of  Christ  pointing  heavenward.  Towards 
that,  and  that  alone,  the  essential  nature  of  the  man 
was  directed,  even  as  the  compass-needle,  though  de- 
flected and  distracted  by  other  neighbouring  agencies, 
is  essentially  undeviating  and  loyal  in  its  allegiance  to 


144  THE    CHALLONERS 

the  north.  His  disapprovals,  his  censorious  judgments, 
his  want  of  sympathy  for  what  he  did  not  understand 
were  only  the  husk  of  the  man,  and  it  was  the  very 
strength  of  his  central  devotion  that  made  him  intoler- 
ant of  any  who  seemed  to  lapse  in  things  great  or 
small  from  his  own  measure  of  fervour.  Extreme 
cases,  indeed,  the  case  of  the  Jew,  the  Turk,  the  in- 
fidel, he  left  with  faith  to  the  mercy  of  God,  though  his 
human  comprehension  did  not  see  how  they  could  be 
capable  of  receiving  it.  He  did  not  know ;  he  left 
them  before  the  throne  of  Infinite  Compassion,  and 
turned  his  thoughts  elsewhere,  to  his  own  work  of 
ministering  to  the  sick  and  needy,  to  the  cultivation 
of  the  intellect,  the  usury  of  that  sterling  talent  given 
to  man,  and  all  that  should  make  a  man  more  capable 
of  worship,  a  fitter  instrument  in  the  hand  of  the  great 
Artificer. 

The  rose  colour  in  the  west  faded  to  the  nameless 
and  indescribable  hue  of  the  hour  after  sunset,  a  single 
spangle  of  a  star  flashed  in  the  vault  of  velvet  sky, 
and  dusk,  like  the  slow  closing  of  tired  eyes,  fell  layer 
after  layer  over  field  and  copse  and  river.  Lights  be- 
gan to  twinkle  in  the  cottages  of  the  village ;  day  with 
its  joys  and  its  work  and  its  rewards  was  over,  and 
rest  was  ordained  for  the  world  and  its  myriads.  In- 
stinctively the  mood  of  the  tranquil  hour  gained  on 
him,  his  foot  abated  a  little  from  the  vigour  of  its 
stride,  the  active  fervour  of  his  brain  cooled  a  little, 
and  a  very  human  tenderness  rose  and  suffused  his 
thoughts.  Here  in  the  church-yard,  which  he  was 
now  crossing,  stood  the  plain  marble  slab  with  its 
lettering,  now  twenty-four  years  old,  below  which  lay 
the  remains  of  her  who  had  been  the  one  passion, 


THE    CHALLONERS  145 

short  and  sweet  and  bitter,  of  his  Hfe.  How  often  in 
those  years  had  he  wondered,  with  aching  longing  for 
light,  what  was  the  design  of  that  interlude,  what  was 
the  correct  reading,  so  to  speak,  of  the  passion  that  had 
for  a  year  so  absorbed  and  mastered  and  overwhelmed 
him.  His  wife  and  he  had  no  spiritual  affinity;  his 
love  for  her  had  not  raised  and  inspired  him,  and  he, 
strong  and  loving  as  he  had  been,  had  not  helped  her 
with  any  success  towards  the  strenuous  and  active  ser- 
vice which  he  knew  to  be  the  bounden  duty  of  every 
living  soul.  Had  his  passion,  then,  been  merely  a 
casual,  carnal  longing,  a  frailty  of  the  flesh?  Often 
and  often  he  had  been  afraid  to  answer  that  question 
honestly,  but  to-night,  as  he  paused  for  a  moment  by 
the  grave,  that  doubt  assailed  him  no  longer,  and  in- 
stead a  strange  yearning  and  regret  for  a  missed  op- 
portunity took  its  place.  Had  he  dealt  wisely  and 
gently  with  that  sun-lit  child  ?  Had  he  failed  to  realise 
what  a  child  she  was,  and  been  harsh  and  deficient  in 
tenderness  to  a  little  one? 

His  head  drooped  for  a  moment  as  he  stood  there, 
and  then,  with  all  the  honesty  of  a  nature  as  upright 
as  a  fir-tree,  he  answered  it.  He  could  not  justly  con- 
demn himself:  he  had  done  his  best  according  to  the 
light  that  was  given  him.  He  had  acted  in  a  way  he 
would  have  advised  another  to  act, — he  would  act  so 
again  now.  It  had  not  been  easy.  Often  he  had  longed 
to  kiss  her  face  into  smiles  again,  and  had  been  stern 
instead. 

Then  briskly  again  he  left  the  grave,  and  in  the 
gloaming  stepped  across  the  lawn  into  the  long  win- 
dow of  his  study.  The  lamp  was  already  there, 
trimmed  and  lit,  his  work  was  spread  on  the  table  in 

10 


146  THE    CHALLONERS 

orderly  array.  There  were  still  ten  minutes  remaining 
to  him  before  he  need  dress  for  dinner,  and  from 
habit  long-engrained  he  sat  down  at  once  to  use  them. 
He  found  his  place,  composed  his  mind  to  the  topic  on 
hand,  and  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink.  But,  contrary  to 
habit,  his  attention  wandered,  and  strayed  back  to  the 
church-yard  and  until  the  dressing-bell  sounded  he 
sat  there  looking  out  of  the  window  with  unseeing 
eyes,  questioning,  questioning. 


CHAPTER    VII 

Three  glasses  of  claret  during  dinner  and  one  of 
port  with  his  dessert  was  Mr.  Challoner's  usual  allow- 
ance of  alcoholic  fluid,  and,  as  a  rule,  neither  his  sister 
nor  Helen  took  any.  But  to-night,  in  honour  of  the 
occasion,  a  half-bottle  of  champagne,  to  drink  a  toast 
in  which  two  names  were  coupled,  made  its  unusual 
appearance,  and  the  vicar  proposed  the  health  in  a 
voice  which  shook  a  little  with  feeling. 

"  God  bless  you  both,  my  dearest  girl,"  he  said,  and 
drained  his  glass. 

Afterwards,  as  if  to  endorse  the  felicity  of  the  occa- 
sion, the  malignancy  of  the  cards  was  abated,  and 
Aunt  Clara's  Patience  "  came  out"  twice  before 
prayers  without  a  semblance  of  cheating  on  her 
part.  Why  she  cared  to  play  at  all,  if  she  cheated, 
had  long  been  to  Helen  an  unanswerable  riddle,  and 
was  so  still.  But,  in  her  dry  and  passionless  way,  to 
get  out  without  cheating  was  a  satisfaction  to  Aunt 
Clara.  She  was  pleased  also  with  the  engagement  of 
her  niece,  but  her  comparative  reticence  on  that,  as  on 
the  subject  of  Patience  (she  had  said  only  "Fancy, 
Sidney,  Miss  Milligan  came  out  twice!"),  was  due  not, 
as  in  her  brother's  case,  to  excess  of  feeling,  but  to  the 
inability  to  feel  anything  at  all  acutely.  The  per- 
formance of  her  duties  in  the  house  and  in  the  parish 
had  been  for  years  a  sufficient  emotional  diet ;  from 
other  influences,  like  a  freshly-vaccinated  person  in 
respect  of  smallpox,   she  was  immune.      She  always 

147 


148  THE    CHALLONERS 

said  "  Good-night"  the  moment  prayers  were  over,  and 
did  so  on  this  occasion.  But  she  kissed  Helen  twice. 
That  corresponded  to  her  observation  to  her  brother 
about  the  Patience. 

To-night,  however,  contrary  to  custom,  the  vicar 
lingered  in  the  drawing-room  instead  of  going  back 
to  his  study,  and,  when  her  aunt  was  gone,  Helen  took 
this  opportunity  of  getting  her  little  confession  made. 
He  had  beckoned  her  to  the  arm  of  the  long,  deep 
chair  in  which  he  was  sitting,  when  she  would  na- 
turally have  followed  her  aunt  upstairs,  and  took  her 
hand  in  his,  stroking  it  softly.  Such  a  spontaneous 
caress  was  rare  with  him,  and  in  spite  of  the  enormity 
of  her  confession,  she  needed  no  large  call  on  her  cour- 
age to  make  it. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  want  to  tell  you,  father,"  she 
said.     "  I  hope  you  will  not  be  very  angry  with  me." 

Mr.  Challoner  pressed  her  hand  gently.  Now,  as 
always,  the  confidence  of  his  children  was  a  thing  im- 
mensely sweet  to  him,  to  get  it  unasked,  pathetically  so. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  he  said.  "I  don't  think  you 
need  be  afraid  of  that." 

"  Do  you  remember  this  morning  requesting  Lord 
Yorkshire — Frank — not  to  smoke  in  the  Room?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  perfectly.  And  since  I  feel  sure  I  know 
what  you  want  to  tell  me,  it  did  occur  to  me  that  you 
might,  with  a  little  courage,  have  asked  him  not  to. 
You  knew  my  feeling  about  it.  But  you  have  told  me 
of  your  own  accord,  dear.  So  that  is  finished,  quite 
finished." 

The  temptation  to  say  no  more  was  extraordinarily 
strong,  and  to  end  this  beautiful  day  quite  happily  with 


THE    CHALLONERS  149 

every  one — Aunt  Clara  had  kissed  her  twice,  which 
she  usually  only  did  on  Christmas  morning — was  the 
childish  impulse  dominant  in  her.  To-morrow  she 
would  deal  with  other  things,  one  perfect  pearl  of  a 
day  would  be  hers, — an  imperishable  treasure.  But 
the  necessity  of  honesty,  consecrated,  as  it  were,  by 
what  had  passed  between  her  and  Frank  on  the  sub- 
ject, conquered.  For  the  last  year  she  had  occasionally 
smoked,  and  had  never  in  the  least  desired  to  tell  her 
father  that  she  did.  Yet  now,  somehow,  perhaps  be- 
cause it  was  connected  with  him,  she  must.  So  she 
spoke. 

"  No,  it  is  not  quite  finished,"  she  said.  "  I  had 
been  smoking,  too." 

For  a  moment  he  almost  failed  to  grasp  this  simple 
statement,  then  a  school-master  voice  rapped  out  a 
question. 

"You  smoke?"  he  asked. 

"Not  often;  not  much,"  she  said,  with  the  old 
childish  awe  of  him  suddenly  returning. 

"  And  who Did  Martin  teach  you?"  he  asked, 

with  an  ironic  emphasis  on  "  teach,"  at  that  fine  word 
being  put  to  such  base  uses. 

"  No ;   I  asked  him  for  a  cigarette,"  she  said. 

"And  he  gave  it  you?" 

There  was  no  reply  necessary.  He  had  dropped  her 
hand,  as  if  it  had  been  a  cigarette-end,  but  now  he 
took  it  again. 

"  My  dearest  girl,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  want  you  for 
a  moment  to  think  that  I  make  much  out  of  a  little ;  do 
not  think  that  I  regard  it  as  morally  wrong  in  any 
way.  But  think,  Helen, — a  girl  like  you  smoking.  Is 
it  seemly?    Is  it  not  a  horrid,  a  nasty  habit?    And  in 


150  THE    CHALLONERS 

the  Room,  too !  There,  there,  don't  tremble,  my  dear. 
I  am  not  angry." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 

"  Let  us  dismiss  it  altogether,  Helen,"  he  said. 
"  You  told  me,  anyhow,  and  I  know  it  was  hard  for 
you  to  do  that.  But" — and  he  was  father,  responsible 
father,  when  he  should  have  been  friend — "  but  you 
knew  my  feeling  about  it.     It  was  disobedient." 

All  the  time  his  heart  was  warmed  by  the  thought 
that  she  had  told  him,  yet  his  sense  of  duty,  his  re- 
sponsibility towards  his  children,  which  was  one  of  the 
most  constant  motives  of  his  acts,  made  him  say  more. 
He  did  not  want  to  preach,  but  he  was  incapable  of 
not  doing  so. 

"  Yes,  disobedient,"  he  said,  "  to  what  you  knew  I 
felt.  And  that  Martin  should  give  you  a  cigarette  is 
as  bad." 

"  Ah,  do  not  bring  him  into  it,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
stronger  than  Martin, — he  had  to  give  it  me.  Martin 
would  always  do  what  I  asked  him.  Please  do  not 
write  to  him  or  speak  to  him  about  it." 

Then,  at  the  thought  of  Martin,  and  of  the  constant, 
continual  misunderstandings  between  him  and  her 
father,  her  own  great  happiness  urged  her  to  try  to 
help  him. 

'*  I  am  much  worse  than  Martin  is,  dear  father," 
she  said ;  "  much  more  disobedient,  much, — '  The 
Mill  on  the  Floss,'  for  instance.  I  had  been  read- 
ing it." 

"And  he  had  lent  it  you?"  asked  Mr.  Challoner, 
quietly. 

"  No.  I  found  it  in  his  bedroom  and  took  it.  Oh, 
father " 


THE    CHALLONERS  151 

The  issues  for  each  had  deepened.  The  meaning  of 
that  exclamation  was  understood  by  him:  it  pleaded 
with  him  for  Martin. 

"  I  have  always  tried  to  be  a  good  father  to  you 
both,"  he  said. 

Then  all  that  Helen  had  suppressed  and  striven  not 
to  have  thought  for  years  rose  to  the  surface  on  this 
her  first  day  of  liberty.  She  had  not  let  herself  know 
how  heavy  the  yoke  had  been  till  now,  when  her  manu- 
mission was  signed.  But  Martin  still  was  in  sub- 
jection.    She  stood  up. 

"  I  know  that,"  she  said.  "  If  I  had  not  always 
known  that  I  should  not  have  cared.  It  is  just  that 
which  makes  it  so  sad.  But  we  have  both  been  afraid 
of  you.  We  have  concealed  things  from  you  because 
we  were  afraid  of  your  displeasure.  You  know,  Mar- 
tin is  awfully  timid ;  he  shrinks  from  what  hurts.  And 
we  do  not  tell  you  everything  even  now." 

The  thrill  of  pleasure  that  her  unasked  confidence 
had  given  him  had  pretty  well  died  out.  He  felt  also 
that  there  was  something  more  coming. 

"  You  or  Martin?"  he  asked. 

The  tide  was  irresistible,  sweeping  her  away.  A 
thing  which  must  be  horribly  painful  to  him  had  to 
be  told  her  father  to-day,  to-morrow,  or  some  time, 
and  she  suddenly  knew  that  she  must  tell  him  now. 
Besides,  here  was  a  burden  she  could  voluntarily  bear 
for  her  lover,  a  pain,  a  difficult  thing  she  could  take  on 
herself.  And,  woman  all  through,  as  she  would  have 
saved  him  anything  from  a  toothache  to  a  heartache, 
especially  if  the  saving  it  from  him  meant  the  trans- 
ference of  it  to  her,  she  felt,  in  spite  of  the  pain,  an 
inward  thrill  and  warmth  at  the  thought  that  it  would 


152  THE    CHALLONEKS 

be  spared  to  Frank.  A  few  minutes  before,  when 
Aunt  Clara  left  the  room,  she  would  have  gone  too,  if 
she  had  known  that  the  little  confession  would  lead  on 
to  this,  but  now  the  burning  of  her  love,  as  when 
a  furnace-door  is  thrown  open,  glowed  with  a  white- 
ness that  consumed  all  else. 

"  I,  anyhow,"  she  said.  "  I  have  something  which 
you  must  be  told.  And  I  choose  to  tell  you  instead  of 
Frank." 

Her  father  got  up  also  facing  her.  He  was  very 
grave,  very  still. 

"  Does  it  concern  him?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  it  disgraceful?" 

"  No." 

He  made  one  futile  attempt  to  stop  in  the  middle  of 
the  rapids  into  which  he  or  she,  he  did  not  know 
which,  had  steered. 

"  Then,  tell  me  nothing,  Helen,"  he  said.  "  You 
say  it  is  not  disgraceful.  That  is  quite  sufficient  for 
me  when  it  comes  from  your  mouth.  I  do  not  wish  to 
be  told  either  by  him  or  you.  There  is  no  past  that 
can  be  raked  up — ah,  I  need  not  have  asked  you  that. 
You  would  have  turned  from  him  with  loathing  if 
there  had  been  that.  For  the  rest  I  am  satisfied.  He 
has  artistic  tastes  of  which  I  have  no  knowledge,  and 
with  which  no  sympathy.  He  is  honourable  and  of  a 
great  name,  he  is  liked,  respected;  he  is  a  man  whom 
I  would  have  chosen  myself  for  you,  and  he  has  the 
interests  and  welfare  of  the  church  close  to  his 
heart " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  arrested  by  the  sudden  white- 
ness of  her  face. 


THE    CHALLONERS  153 

"  Or  what  ?"  he  asked. 

"  He  is  not  even  a  Christian,"  said  Helen,  simply. 

Mr.  Challoner  did  not  reply  at  once.  The  habit  of 
tidiness  in  him,  unconsciously  asserting  itself,  led  him 
to  put  square  the  case  of  cards  which  his  sister  had 
used  for  her  Patience.  Then  he  turned  down  with  his 
foot  the  corner  of  the  hearth-rug  which  Helen's  dress, 
as  she  walked  to  the  fireplace,  had  disarranged.  In- 
deed, it  had  distressed  him  for  some  time ;  it  was  easy 
to  trip  on  it.     Then  he  spoke. 

"  And  did  you  know  that  when  you  promised  to  be 
his  wife?"  he  asked,  with  a  scrupulous  desire  to  be 
absolutely  fair. 

"  Yes,"  said  she. 

"  Then,  what  are  his  religious  opinions?"  asked  he, 
still  scrupulous.     "  Does  he  believe  in  God  ?" 

"  No." 

"  And  you  knew  that  all  along?" 

"  I  knew  it  on  the  day  when,  I  think,  I  began  to  love 
him,"  she  said. 

A  sudden,  superficial  flow  of  bitterness,  just  as  a 
light  breeze  will  ruffle  the  surface  of  some  huge  wave, 
passed  over  her  father. 

"  For  that  reason  ?"  he  asked, 

Helen  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  could  have  asked  me  that,"  she 
said. 

"  And  I,  too,  have  much  to  learn  about  my  children," 
said  he. 

Helen's  eye  flashed  back  at  him.  She  was  afraid  no 
longer.  The  talk  she  had  had  with  Frank  on  that 
memorable  Sunday  afternoon  she  had  put  away  like 
stored  provisions;  often  since  it  had  been  food  to  her 


154  THE    CHALLONERS 

thoughts,  and  it  was  now  all  eaten,  digested,  assimi- 
lated. The  instinct  of  individualism  had  no  doubt 
often  been  present  to  her  mind  before,  but  what  he 
said  then  had  made  it  blossom  and  fructify.  He  had 
said,  in  fact,  perhaps  no  more  than  she  had  known, 
though  without  knowing  she  knew  it;  his  words  had 
been  a  taper  to  a  gas-jet  already  turned  on.  Without 
the  taper  it  might  have  continued  to  escape ;  the  taper 
made  flame  of  it.  And  in  the  light  of  it  the  figure 
"  father"  was  shewn  her  as  a  man  only,  capable  of 
using  one  vote,  in  opposition  it  might  be  to  her  own, 
but,  however  dear  and  intimate  he  was  to  her,  and  in 
spite  of  her  parentage,  education,  and  upbringing,  he 
was  still  only  somebody,  not  herself.  And  she,  Helen, 
had  to  be  herself. 

"Yes;  you  are  learning  that  they  are  people,"  she 
said,  in  answer  to  his  bitterness.  "  Martin  and  I  are 
people.  I  must  think  for  myself  and  feel  for  myself. 
Yes;  I  knew  that  Frank  is  what  he  is, — an  atheist. 
And  I  love  him," 

Mr.  Challoner  looked  at  her  a  moment  with  terrible, 
alien  eyes,  meeting  her  full  gaze.  Then  he  turned  and 
went  towards  the  door. 

Instantly  the  daughter  in  her  awoke. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  holding  out  her  hands  to  him, 
"  Father." 

But  he  passed  out  without  turning,  and  she  heard  the 
door  of  his  study  opposite  close  behind  him,  and  the 
click  of  a  lock. 

The  finality,  the  sharpness  of  that  click  of  well-oiled 
wards,  brought  home  to  the  girl,  even  more  than  the 
bitter  and  burning  words  which  had  been  said,  what 
had  happened,  the  unbridgeable  breach  that  had  opened 


THE    CHALLONERS  155 

between  herself  and  her  father.  For,  even  now,  dis- 
traught as  she  was  with  the  agitation  of  the  scene,  so 
that  she  felt  almost  physically  sick,  she  knew  that  she 
had  acted  in  compulsory  obedience  to  an  instinct  which 
was  irresistible;  she  could  not  call  back  into  her  own 
control  the  love  she  had  given.  Whatever  else  beck- 
oned, that  to  her  was  the  strongest  call.  And  equally 
well-known  to  her  was  the  instinct  in  obedience  to 
which  her  father  had  acted.  Dear  as  his  children  were 
to  him,  there  was  something  infinitely  dearer,  that 
which  from  the  tower  of  the  church  had  pointed 
upwards  into  the  clear,  sunset  sky.  No  assertion  of  in- 
dividualism made  its  voice  heard  there;  the  one  im- 
mutable love  claimed  all  allegiances. 

Infinitely  shocked  and  distressed  as  he  was,  Mr. 
Challoner  did  not  suffer  during  the  next  half-hour 
nearly  as  keenly  as  Helen,  for  the  idea  that  she  would 
not  eventually — after  pain  and  struggle,  no  doubt — • 
see  as  he  saw  never  entered  his  mind.  Indeed,  after 
a  few  minutes  the  emotion  predominant  in  him  was 
pity  for  her  at  the  necessity  of  the  rejection  of  the 
human  love  offered  to  and  accepted  by  her.  She  would 
be  led  to  the  light — not  for  a  moment  did  he  doubt 
that — and  the  suffering  would  ennoble  and  not  em- 
bitter her.  Then,  out  of  pity  for  her,  compunction  at 
what  he  had  done  rose  within  him.  Again  he  had 
been  harsh  and  peremptory ;  not  even  the  sacred  cause 
he  championed  could  justify  that  nor  excuse  his  lack 
of  gentleness.  He  had  left  her  in  anger,  anger  as  he 
now  acknowledged  to  himself  partly  personal  in  its 
origin.  So,  before  half  an  hour  was  passed,  he  un- 
locked his  door,  and  going  upstairs  to  her  bedroom, 
tapped  softly. 


156  THE    CHALLONERS 

Helen  had  had  no  more  thought  of  going  to  bed  than 
he,  and  she  let  him  in  at  once. 

"  We  did  not  say  good-night,  Helen,"  he  said. 
"  We  were  both " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  him. 

"  Ah,  don't  let  us  discuss  it  any  more  to-night," 
she  said. 

"  No,  dear.  I  only  wanted  to  say  good-night  to  you, 
to — to  say  that  I  am  sorry  for  leaving  in  the  manner 
I  did.     You  look  very  tired.    Will  you  not  go  to  bed." 

"  Yes;    soon  perhaps." 

She  kissed  him,  and  stood  silent  a  moment,  finger- 
ing the  lappel  of  his  coat. 

"  If  we  did  not  care  for  each  other  it  would  be 
easier,"  she  said.  "  Poor  father !  Good-night,  dear. 
Thank  you  for  coming." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Frank  should  bring  the 
motor  over  again  next  morning  and  drive  Helen  back 
to  Fareham  to  lunch  with  Lady  Sunningdale,  and  he 
made  his  appearance  rather  sooner  than  expected, 
having  driven,  as  he  acknowledged,  a  little  over  the 
regulation  two  miles  an  hour.  Helen  had  heard  the  ap- 
proach of  wheels,  and  met  him  at  the  door.  One  glance 
at  her  face  was  enough  to  tell  him  that  something,  and 
what  that  was  he  easily  guessed,  had  happened. 

"  Father  is  in,"  she  said ;  "  he  waited  in  on  pur- 
pose to  see  you.     Yes;   he  knows." 

"You  told  him?    Well?" 

"  He  said  very  little,  but  enough.  Oh,  Frank,  it 
is  very  dreadful.  He  is  my  father.  But  all  I  said  to 
you  holds.  He,  you;  that  is  what  hurts  so.  It  was 
awful  telling  him,  too.     But  I  had  to." 


THE    CHALLONERS  157 

"  My  darling,  why?"  he  asked.  "  You  should  have 
left  it  to  me." 

Her  eye  brightened. 

*'  Ah,  that  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  didn't," 
she  said. 

"  Oh,  Helen !     But  you  look  tired,  knocked  up." 

"  That  doesn't  much  matter,"  she  said.  "  Go  to 
see  him  now,  dear.  You  will  find  me  on  the  lawn 
when  you  have  finished.  And,  remember,  it  all  holds. 
It  was  never  shaken,  not  for  a  moment,  even  last 
night.  And  he  came  to  say  good-night  to  me  after- 
wards; poor,  dear  father!  I  have  always  envied  him 
for  his  strength  till  now;  but  now  it  is  just  that  which 
will  make  him  suffer  so  horribly." 

Frank  felt  in  his  coat  pocket,  and  took  a  note  out 
of  it. 

"  From  Lady  Sunningdale,"  he  said.  "  She  is  de- 
lighted, and  is  telling  everybody  how  she  managed  and 
contrived  it  all  from  the  beginning." 

Helen  took  the  note. 

"  Go  now,  Frank,"  she  said.  "  I  can  think  of 
nothing  till  this  is  over." 

She  strolled  out  on  to  the  lawn  again,  and  sat  down 
in  the  warm  shade  of  the  box-hedge  to  read  Lady 
Sunningdale's  ecstatic  and  desultory  raptures.  The 
scene  the  evening  before,  followed  by  a  very  restless 
night,  full  of  half-conscious  sleep  and  wide-eyed 
awakenings,  had  so  tired  her  that  weariness  had 
brought  a  sort  of  healing  of  its  own,  dulling  the  keenest 
edge  of  her  capacity  for  suffering.  Breakfast  had  been 
a  meal  of  ghastly  silence,  broken  only  by  noises  of 
knives  and  forks,  loud  in  the  stillness.  Her  father  had 
only  addressed  her  directly  once,  and  that  to  say  that 


158  THE    CHALLONERS 

he  wished  to  see  Lord  Yorkshire  when  he  arrived. 
Breakfast  over,  she  had  written  to  Martin  to  tell  him 
all  that  had  happened ;   then  Frank  had  come. 

All  sorts  of  awful,  impossible  situations  flapped  like 
horrible  bats  about  her  as  she  waited.  She  pictured 
her  father  insulting  her  lover;  she  pictured  Frank, 
stung  by  some  intolerable  taunt,  striking  him;  she 
pictured,  with  dreadful  vividness,  a  hundred  things 
that  could  not  possibly  be.  All  round  her  hummed 
the  myriad  noises  of  the  summer  noon,  and  the  myriad 
scents  of  the  flower-garden,  where  still  the  industrious 
sweet-peas  were  prolific,  mingled,  and  were  wafted  in 
web  of  fragrant  smell  round  her.  It  was  a  day  of 
high  festival  in  sound  and  smell  and  light  and  colour, 
a  day  of  a  brilliance  that  had  again  and  again  been 
sufficient  to  make  her  half  crazy  with  the  pure  joy  of 
living  and  sight  of  joyous  life  so  abundantly  mani- 
fested. But  this  morning  she  was  deaf  and  blind  to 
the  myriad- voiced  noon;  for  in  these  last  twenty-four 
hours  there  had  come  to  her  a  happiness  transcending 
all  she  had  ever  felt  and  a  bitterness  of  sorrow,  march- 
ing side  by  side,  and  inextricably  mingled  with  it, 
that  was  as  immeasurably  more  poignant  than  any  she 
had  ever  known  as  her  joy  transcended  all  the  other 
joys  of  her  very  happy  years.  Whatever  might  hap- 
pen, life  could  never  again  be  enjoyed  by  her  with 
the  insouciance  of  girlhood:  some  finger  had  touched 
her  as  she  smiled  and  dreamed  in  her  twenty  years  of 
sleep  and  had  awakened  her.  And  a  voice  had  said, 
"  Wake ;  you  are  a  woman ;  you  shall  love  and  suffer." 
Yet,  even  now,  while  she  shrank  and  winced  under 
the  pain,  some  secret  fibre  of  her  being  welcomed  it. 
She — her  essential  self — was  the  richer  for  it;    life  at 


THE    CHALLONERS  159 

last  had  touched  her  sad,  bitter,  imperfect,  but  admir- 
able life.  Like  a  plant,  she  had  been  moved  suddenly 
out  of  the  warm  shelter  of  a  green-house.  Here- 
after the  sun  might  scorch  her,  the  wind  tear  her, 
the  frost  wither  her,  the  rain  lash  her,  but  she  was  to 
know  what  it  was  to  be  rooted  in  the  great  earth,  to 
grow,  with  no  shelter  in  between,  upward  towards  the 
heavens. 

All  this  was  certainly  happening  to  her,  but  as  yet 
she  guessed  but  a  small  part  of  it.  All  that  her  reverie, 
when  she  had  read  Lady  Sunningdale's  letter,  told  her 
was  that  she  was  acutely  unhappy  because  her  father 
would  suffer ;  and  in  some  tremulous,  aerial  way  happy 
beyond  all  that  she  had  ever  guessed  to  be  possible 
because  she  loved  and  was  loved.  The  two  feelings 
were  inextricably  intertwined;  neither,  as  she  knew 
them,  could  have  existence  without  the  other.  And 
out  of  this  tangled  thicket  of  rose  and  thorn  there 
emerged  this  new  self  of  hers,  in  no  selfish  or  egoistic 
mood,  but  very  conscious,  very  vital,  bleeding  from 
the  thorns,  but  breathing  the  inimitable  odour  of  the 
roses. 

A  maid-servant  with  a  message  from  the  vicar 
roused  her.  Would  she  please  to  come  into  his  study 
for  a  moment.  She  got  up  with  a  vague,  dreadful 
sense  that  this  had  all  happened  before,  but  she  could 
not  remember  the  outcome,  and  as  she  walked  across 
the  lawn  the  terrible,  impossible  pictures  again  flashed 
through  her  head,  like  scenes  of  a  magic-lantern  staring 
out  of  blackness. 

The  aroma  of  tobacco  as  she  opened  the  study  door 
gave  her  a  sudden,  shallow  thrill  of  comfort.  But 
this  was   scarcely   endorsed  by  the   next   impression. 


160  THE    CHALLONERS 

Mr.  Challoner,  always  courteous,  had  no  doubt  sug- 
gested one  of  his  excellent  cigars,  and  Frank  had 
accepted  it.  But  the  good-fellowship  tacitly  implied 
by  the  act  was  here  omitted.  The  vicar  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  fireplace,  flinty- faced;  Frank  sat  in  a 
big  chair  drawn  close  to  the  writing-table,  the  chair  in 
which  times  without  number  Helen  and  Martin  had 
sat  together  looking  at  Bible  pictures  after  tea  on 
Sunday.  All  the  furniture  of  the  study,  the  aromatic 
smell  of  leather  bindings  that  hung  there,  the  uncom- 
promising tidiness  of  it,  its  orderly  severity,  the  picture 
of  the  Roman  forum,  the  glass  paper-weight  on  the 
table,  brought  a  sudden  rush  of  associations  into  the 
girl's  mind  now  that  she  saw  Frank  there  too;  they 
were  all  so  closely  knit  into  the  fabric  of  her  life,  so 
intimately  suggestive  of  that  stern,  tall  figure  by  the 
fireplace.  And  somewhere  far  away  back  in  her  brain 
her  own  voice,  in  a  little  childish  pipe,  whispered  to 
Martin,  "  Papa's  cross  about  something.  Is  it  you 
or  me?" 

She  took  a  seat  in  silence,  and  the  silence  lengthened 
ominously.  Frank  was  looking  at  her  with  a  quiet, 
level  gaze,  full  of  love  and  full  of  pity,  and  she  turned 
her  eyes  away,  fearing  that  she  would  scream  with 
tears  or  laughter  if  she  allowed  herself  to  look  at  him. 
And  the  voice  that  broke  the  silence  was  quiet  and 
level  also;  the  whole  thing  was  deplorably  well-bred. 
Insults,  violence,  all  that  she  had  pictured  to  herself, 
would  have  been  a  relief,  a  safety-valve  for  the  burst- 
ing pressure  that  she  knew  existed  beneath.  But  as 
yet  there  was  none. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  Helen,"  said  her  father,  "  to 
choose."     He  paused  a  moment.     "  Lord  Yorkshire  is 


THE    CHALLONERS  161 

on  the  one  side,"  he  said,  "  I  am  on  the  other.  We 
have  settled  it  so," 

"  That  is  not  quite  fairly  stated,"  said  Frank,  in 
the  tone  a  man  might  use  if  he  demurred  to  some  argu- 
ment in  a  discussion  in  which  he  was  not  really  in- 
terested. 

Mr.  Challoner's  face  grew  a  shade  paler. 

"  Did  you  say  '  fairly'  ?"  he  asked. 

The  deadly  quietness  of  this  suddenly  frightened  the 
girl.  That  was  a  tone  in  his  voice  she  knew  and 
dreaded. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  father." 

They  neither  of  them  took  any  notice  of  her,  and 
Frank  answered  in  the  same  gentle,  objecting  manner. 

"  You  say  '  we  settled  it,'  "  he  said.  "  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  You  merely  told  me  what  you  were 
going  to  do.    That  is  why  I  used  the  word  '  fairly.'  " 

Mr.  Challoner  considered  this  for  a  moment. 

"  I  see  your  point,"  he  said.     "  That  is  so." 

Then  he  turned  to  Helen. 

"  So  choose,"  he  said.     "  I  settled  it  so." 

Helen  looked  at  Frank  a  moment  and  stood  up,  love 
streaming  round  her  in  triumphant  flood,  bearing  her 
away. 

"  I  have  chosen,"  she  said.    "  You  know  it." 

Then,  even  in  that  moment,  when  she  felt  so  strong, 
when  her  love  was  to  her  like  a  draught  of  wine  or 
meat  to  the  hungry,  her  strength  utterly  failed  her,  and 
she  buried  her  head  on  the  cushions  of  the  sofa  where 
she  had  been  sitting  and  burst  into  hopeless,  hysterical 
sobbing.  She  was  not  capable  of  more ;  all  had  given 
way,  and  she  lay  helpless,  sobbing,  sobbing,  as  if  to  sob 
her  heart  out. 

IX 


162  THE    CHALLONERS 

But  four  hands  were  busy  about  her,  and  as  the 
stress  of  her  seizure  began  to  leave  her,  she  heard  two 
voices,  for  the  moment  one.  And  one  said,  "  Helen 
darling,"  and  the  other,  "  Helen  dear;"  and  one  said, 
"  If  you  would  be  so  kind.  Lord  Yorkshire,  there  is 
some  water  on  the  table;"  and  the  other  said,  "  Helen, 
would  you  like  to  drink  a  little  water?" 

For  two  men  in  nature,  in  sympathy,  in  religion 
poles  apart  were  bound  together  for  a  moment  in 
the  necessity  divine  and  human  of  comforting  the 
weak,  of  giving  help  to  a  sufferer.  She  who  suffered 
was  loved  by  them  both,  and  though  the  distance  of 
fifty  poles  could  not  span  the  difference  between  their 
ways  of  love,  that  was  sufficient. 

For  myriads  are  the  ways  of  approaching  the  throne 
where  all  love  dwells.  From  east  and  west  and  north 
and  south  those  myriad  ways  converge  and  meet. 
But  at  present  east  and  west,  being  human,  and  think- 
ing that  they  were  going  in  opposite  ways,  could  not 
foretell  the  meeting.     But  the  Centre  knew. 

By  degrees  she  came  to  herself  again,  and  one  said, 
"  Some  other  time,"  and  the  other,  "  Not  again  now, 
Helen."  So  of  the  three  she  wac  the  only  one  who 
was  resolved  to  go  on,  to  have  this  ghastly  spiritual 
surgery  finished.  Though  she  had  chosen,  she  knew 
there  was  more  that  had  to  be  said. 

She  cast  one  glance  at  her  father,  but  her  physical 
weakness  over,  his  pity,  she  saw,  w^as  over  also.  A 
gulf  immeasurable  by  leagues  had  opened  between 
them,  and  though  not  even  yet  did  he  despair  that  they 
would  be  forever  disunited,  it  was  she  who  must  come 
to  him.  From  the  firm  rock  on  which  he  stood  he 
knew,  so  he  believed,  that  he  would  never  stir  a  step. 


THE    CHALLONERS  163 

She  pushed  back  her  hair  from  her  forehead. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  did  that,"  she  said.  "  It  was 
stupid  of  me.    Give  me  a  minute." 

She  got  up,  still  a  little  unsteadily,  and  played  with 
the  pens  in  the  tray  on  the  writing-table,  recovering 
herself.     Then  she  turned  suddenly  to  her  father. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  you  can't  mean  what  you  say. 
How  can  I  choose  between  you  ?  What  are  you  asking 
me  to  do?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say,"  he  answered,  with  the 
same  dreadful  quietness.  That  which  had  not  seemed 
possible  to  him  last  night,  that  she  would  really  choose 
as  she  had  chosen,  had  become  more  than  possible. 
"  You  choose  between  us.  Are  there  words  in  which 
I  can  make  that  clearer?  If  you  choose  me,  you  say 
good-bye  to  Lord  Yorkshire  here  and  now.  If  you 
choose  him,  you  are  to  understand  that  you  cease  to  be 
my  daughter.  I  will  not  be  at  your  wedding;  I  will 
not  see  you  afterwards.  You  shall  not  be  married 
from  this  house,  nor,  if  I  could  help  it,  should  you  be 
married  in  this  church." 

Then  suddenly  the  quietness  of  the  scene  was  shat- 
tered. As  if  by  a  sudden  flash  of  lightning,  all  that 
Helen's  choice  implied,  her  rejection  not  of  him  alone, 
but  her  rejection  of  all  in  the  world  that  he  held 
sacred,  was  made  dazzlingly  clear  to  him.  At  that  his 
self-control  gave  way,  and  as  his  voice  rose  louder 
and  louder,  he  beat  with  his  clenched  hand  on  the 
edge  of  the  marble  chimney-piece,  so  that  the  knuckles 
bled. 

"  Understand  what  you  are  doing,"  he  said,  "  and 
let  me  tell  you,  so  that  there  can  be  no  mistake.  You 
will  promise  to  love,  honour,  and  obey  an  atheist,  an 


164  THE    CHALLONERS 

infidel,  one  who  denies  God  and  his  Christ.  You  will 
have  to  say  you  do  this  according  to  God's  holy  ordi- 
nance. That  from  you,  in  church,  Helen,  and  a  lie. 
It  cannot  be  by  His  ordinance,  for  by  your  act  you 
turn  your  back  on  the  faith  that  has  been  yours  from 
childhood  till  now,  on  all  you  have  believed  to  be 
sacred.  And  what  of  the  end?  What  of  the  life  to 
which  this  is  but  a  prelude?  What  of  him,  your  hus- 
band, then?  He  that  believeth  not  shall  be  damned. 
I  would — I  would  sooner  see  you  in  your  coffin  than 
standing  by  the  altar  with  this  man.     I  would  sooner 

see  you  his  mistress " 

His  passion,  springing  though  it  did  from  his  own 
intense  and  fervent  Christianity,  had  suddenly  shot 
out  into  a  bitter  and  poisonous  blossom,  and  as  that 
flared  through  the  room,  he  paused  a  moment  and 
looked  at  her  as  she  stood  before  him  in  the  beautiful 
whiteness  of  her  girlhood.  Her  physical  weakness  had 
altogether  passed,  and  except  that  she  took  one  step 
back  from  him  in  involuntary  disgust  and  shrinking, 
you  would  have  said  she  was  listening  with  quiet, 
incredulous  wonder  to  some  tale  that  did  not  concern 
her.  But  as  he  paused,  hardly  yet  knowing  what  he 
had  said,  knowing,  in  fact,  only  that  no  words  could 
be  strong  enough  to  express  the  intensity  of  his  con- 
viction, she  turned  from  him. 

"  Come,  Frank,"  she  said;  "  let  us  go." 
Frank  also  had  risen  with  a  sudden  flush  on  his 
face  at  those  intolerable  words,  an  answer  springing  to 
his  lips,  and  moved  quickly  towards  her  with  some  in- 
stinct of  protecting  her.  But  her  tone  checked  him, 
and  he  followed  her  to  the  door.  She  had  already 
opened   it,   without   further   speech   or   looking   back, 


THE    CHALLONERS  165 

when  her  father's  voice,  scarcely  audible  and  broken 
and  trembling,  stopped  her. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  "  indeed  I  did  not  think  or  know 
what  I  said.  But,  my  dearest,  what  are  you  doing? 
What  are  you  doing?  For  Christ's  sake,  Helen,  who 
died  for  you." 

Frank  had  passed  out.  Whatever  more  took  place 
between  them  was  not  for  him  to  hear.  Then  the 
door  closed  behind  him,  leaving  father  and  daughter 
alone. 

"  For  Christ's  sake,  Helen,"  he  said  again. 

She  came  back  to  the  hearth-rug  where  he  stood. 

"  Oh,  father,"  she  said,  and  paused.  That  was  all 
the  reproach  he  was  ever  to  hear  from  her.  "  You  are 
making  it  very  hard  for  me." 

"  Yes,  I  am  making  it  as  hard  as  I  can.  I  am  bound 
by  my  duty  to  God  to  do  that.  If  I  knew  how  to 
make  it  harder,  I  would." 

"  You  cannot.  You  have  said  all  that  can  be  said. 
And  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.    Let  me  go  now." 

She  kissed  him  gently. 

"  Poor  father!"  she  said,  and  left  him. 

Mr.  Challoner  stood  long  where  he  was  when  she 
had  gone.  Never  before  perhaps  in  his  whole  life 
had  another  will  come  so  actively  and  stubbornly  into 
collision  with  his,  and  never  before  certainly  had  he 
felt  so  overwhelmingly  a  sense  of  spiritual  desolation. 
Eager  and  strenuous  all  through,  it  was  in  the  truths 
of  the  Christian  faith  that  he  found  the  incentive  of 
his  life,  from  it  sprang  all  the  earnestness  and  deep 
sense  of  duty  in  the  man,  to  it  was  every  effort  and 
deed  of  his  dedicated. 


166  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  But  what  have  I  done,"  he  half  moaned  to  himself, 
"  that  this  should  come  to  my  house,  and  to  one  for 
whose  faith  and  upbringing  I  have  to  answer?  Oh, 
Lord,  if  it  is  through  any  fault  of  mine,  let  me  learn 
for  what  deadly  sin  this  punishment  is  sent!" 

Indeed,  he  had  spoken  no  more  than  the  truth,  bitter 
and  brutal  though  the  truth  was,  when  he  told  Helen 
that  he  would  rather  have  seen  her  in  her  coffin  than 
by  the  altar  with  her  lover.  And  now  he  took  no  ac- 
count of  his  personal  sorrow;  the  yearning  that  she 
should  accept  her  father's  wish  and  guidance  as  such 
was  non-existent  in  him,  killed  by  the  stronger  motive. 
All  his  personal  relations  with  her  of  trust  and  affec- 
tion, which  to  the  best  of  his  power  he  had  built  up 
for  years,  were  voiceless  now, — simply  he  strove  for 
a  soul — and  that  dear  to  him — in  danger  imminent 
and  awful.  The  rigid  Puritan  note  was  here,  and  he 
would  sooner  have  mated  her  with  a  thief  or  an 
adulterer,  since  such  might  repent  and  be  saved,  than 
with  a  reasoned  atheist. 

Then  in  a  horror  of  great  darkness  he  questioned 
his  own  spirit.  "How  had  he  failed?"  and  again, 
"  How  had  he  failed  ?"  Never  had  precious  plant  been 
more  hedged  about  from  frost  or  untimely  blighting 
of  March  winds  than  had  his  daughter  been  folded 
from  all  that  could  conceivably  have  stunted  or  weak- 
ened the  one  true  growth.  From  the  time  when  her 
lips  were  wet  with  a  mother's  milk  God  counsels, 
verse  by  verse  and  line  by  line,  had  been  the  guides  and 
counsellors  of  her  life.  What  had  he  left  undone  that 
he  could  have  done?  Had  any  remissness  of  his  own 
hindered  growth  where  it  should  have  helped?  He 
searched  the  years  for  his   fault,  but  among  all  his 


THE    CHALLONERS  167 

failures  and  weaknesses  and  harshnesses  he  could  not 
find  that  even  for  a  day  had  he  let  anything  else  take 
precedence  of  the  greatest  and  the  only  thing  in  the 
world. 

And  now  at  the  end  she  would  mate  with  an  infidel, 
a  man,  according  to  his  idea,  whose  intimacy  was  more 
to  be  shunned  than  that  of  a  leper's  or  of  one  who 
was  tainted  with  some  deadly  and  contagious  disease. 
That,  at  any  rate,  could  only  kill  the  body ;  but  Helen 
had  chosen  as  the  friend  and  companion  of  her  nights 
and  days  one  whose  soul  was  sick  with  a  more  fatal 
disease,  the  end  of  which,  ordained  and  appointed  of 
God,  was  eternal  death.  It  was  too  hideous  to  be 
credible,  it  was  too  hideous  to  be  conceivably  just. 
And  the  fact  that  he  could  think  that  gives  the  meas- 
ure of  his  soul's  anguish. 

God  sets  a  limit  to  human  misery :  for  it  happens 
that  the  tortured  brain,  tired  with  suffering,  lapses  into 
a  state  of  semi-sensibility;  or  again,  since  one  cannot 
feel  pain  on  account  of  another  unless  the  other  is 
dear, — the  pain  felt  varying,  indeed,  in  proportion  to 
the  affection  felt, — the  joy  of  love  is  always  mingled 
with  it.  It  was  so  now  with  Mr.  Challoner.  Had  he 
not  have  been  Helen's  father,  had  he  not  loved  her,  he 
would  have  cared  less.  But  she  was  his  daughter,  his 
own  girl,  whose  sweetness  had  all  her  life  made  sun- 
shine in  his  home.  He  had  said  an  intolerable  thing 
to  her,  and  for  reproach  she  had  still  given  him  gentle- 
ness. In  the  keenness  of  his  own  suffering  he  had  for- 
gotten hers;  he  had  forgotten  even,  except  for  that 
moment  when  she  had  broken  down,  that  she  must  be 
suffering.     So  he  went  out  after  her. 

She  was  standing  at  the  door  with  her  lover,  and 


168  THE    CHALLONERS 

he  went  straight  up  to  them.  Even  the  sight  of  Frank 
there  gave  him  no  pause. 

"  It  has  been  a  dreadful  morning  for  us  all,"  he  said, 
"  and  selfishly  I  had  forgotten  that  others  beside  my- 
self were  unhappy.  God  knows  what  is  in  store  for  us 
all,  but  we  can  do  no  good  by  being  bitter,  as  I  have 
been.  Let  us, — yes,  you,  too,  Lord  Yorkshire, — ^let 
us  all  join  hands  a  moment.  We  are  His  children,  are 
we  not?    We " 

His  mouth  quivered,  no  more  words  would  come, 
and  they  stood  there  a  moment,  all  three  hands  clasped. 
Then,  feeling  that  his  self-control  was  utterly  giving 
way,  he  left  them,  and  went  back  to  his  empty  room. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

Helen  was  sitting  on  a  pile  of  crimson  cushions  in 
the  stern  of  a  Canadian  canoe,  while  from  the  middle 
of  the  boat  Martin,  with  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up  over 
his  brown  elbows,  paddled  her  gently  along  the  reaches 
of  the  upper  river  at  Cambridge.  The  dryness  and 
heat  of  this  glorious  summer  had  made  the  river  very 
low  in  places,  and  his  feet  also  were  bare,  with  flannel 
trousers  rolled  up  to  the  knee,  for  again  and  again  he 
had  to  get  out  to  pull  the  boat  round  snags  or  over 
shoals  where  the  depth  did  not  allow  it  to  pass  with 
the  draught  of  two  passengers.  To  the  right,  across  a 
stretch  of  meadow  stained  brown  with  length  of  sum- 
mer suns,  rose  the  tower  of  Grantchester  church,  em- 
bowered in  trees,  and  the  booming  of  the  mill  sounded 
drowsily  through  the  still  air.  Close  to  the  river,  how- 
ever, a  vivider  tone  of  colour  prevailed,  tresses  of 
water-side  foliage  dabbled  in  the  stream,  and  tall,  slen- 
der trees  made  a  shelter  from  the  heat,  where  cows, 
a  classical  example  (and  so  not  appealing  to  Martin, 
who  splashed  water  at  them)  of  unbustling  life, 
chewed  the  cud  and  looked  with  large  incurious  eyes 
at  the  gliding  constellation  of  the  twins.  Between 
them  in  the  boat  were  packages  containing  lunch,  for 
Martin  had  taken  a  complete  day  off  his  studies  in 
recalcitrant  languages  and  was  devoting  himself  to 
Helen,  who  was  staying  with  an  aunt,  Lady  Susan 
Arne.  Dr.  Arne,  her  husband,  was  tutor  at  King's,  at 
which  seat  of  learning  Martin  pursued  his  antipathetic 

169 


170  THE    CHALLONERS 

labours,  and  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  greatest 
authority  Hving  on  the  metres  of  Greek  choruses. 

Helen  had  left  Chartries  a  couple  of  days  after  the 
crisis  in  her  love-affair,  at  the  suggestion  of  her  uncle, 
to  whom  she  had  confided  it. 

"  I  will  walk  back  with  you  to  the  vicarage,  Helen," 
he  had  said,  ''  and  persuade  your  father,  in  case  he 
needs  persuasion,  to  let  you  go  away  at  once.  Your 
being  with  him  just  now  only  keeps  the  wound  open. 
Go  away;  it  will  heal  better  so.  Just  now,  after  that 
scene,  you  can  only  torture  each  other  by  your  re- 
maining there.     Poor,  dear  child !" 

"Yes;   but  'poor  father,'  too,"  said  Helen. 

"  Certainly.     Come  to  Chartries,  if  you  like," 

Helen  took  his  arm. 

"  That  is  so  good  of  you,  Uncle  Rupert,"  she  said; 
"  but  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  quite  away,  if  father 
will  let  me.  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  to  Cambridge. 
Martin  is  there.  And  Martin  is  so  good  for  one,  if  one 
is,  well,  not  very  happy." 

"  Yes ;  that  is  a  good  plan.  You  can  stay  with 
Susan.  My  dear,  I'm  more  sorry  for  you  than  I  can 
tell  you,  and  also  I  am  as  sorry  for  your  father.  You 
and  I  both  know  him,  and  we  both  love  him,  and, 
though  we  are  made  very  differently,  we  know  how — 
how  splendid  he  is.     And  how  big." 

"  I  know,"  said  she.  "  I  feel  that  if  I  could  only 
persuade  myself  he  was  narrow  I  should  care  less. 
But  his  huge,  singlehearted  devotion  to — to  God  can- 
not possibly  be  called  narrow." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  a  little. 

"  But  that  is  all  I  can  do  for  you,  Helen,"  said  he. 
"  Nobody  can  really  help  you  except  yourself ;  we  can 


THE    CHALLONERS  171 

only  alleviate  things  a  bit.  You  have  made  your 
choice,  absolutely,  I  gather?" 

"  Am  I  being  a  selfish,  egotistic  little  brute,  Uncle 
Rupert?"  she  asked. 

''  Not  according  to  my  view,  which  is  that  when  a 
thing  concerns  you  so  intimately  and  vitally  as  this  it 
is  nobody  else's  business.  Not  even  your  father's,"  he 
added. 

A  good  deal  of  persuasion,  as  Lord  Flintshire  found, 
was  needed.  At  first  his  brother  would  not  hear  of 
Helen's  going,  for  he  said  that  her  departure  was 
shirking  the  situation.  What  made  him  yield  was  the 
suggestion  that  the  situation,  if  not  shirked,  might 
make  her  really  ill.  And  a  hurried  interchange  of 
telegrams  led  to  her  arrival  at  Cambridge  the  next 
evening. 

The  expedition  to-day  had  started  rather  silently, 
and  Martin  decided  that,  as  Helen  did  not  at  present 
want  to  talk  about  her  affairs,  the  best  thing  to  do  was 
to  be  completely  futile,  foolish,  and  garrulous.  For 
years  he  and  Helen  had  adopted  this  method  of  treat- 
ing each  other's  depression,  and  it  is  was  sufficient  for 
one  to  say  "  Hump.  Play  the  fool,"  for  the  other  to 
understand  that  until  further  notice  he  had  to  talk  rot. 
This  was  a  device,  by  the  way,  which  neither  had  ever 
employed  when  Mr.  Challoner  was  in  a  similar  mood. 
He  would  probably  not  have  understood  it. 

Martin  stood  up  in  the  boat,  which  had  stuck,  and 
peered  into  the  water. 

"  The  great  thing,"  he  remarked,  "  as  the  White 
Knight  said,  is  to  guide  against  the  bites  of  sharks. 
He  had  steel  anklets.     Ow !    why  do  they  take  the 


172  THE   CHALLONERS 

sharpest  stones  in  the  world  and  place  them  where  I 
want  to  step.     I'm  bleeding  like  a  pig." 

He  stood  precariously  on  the  other  foot  and  ex- 
amined the  injury. 

"  A  pig,"  he  remarked,  fatuously,  "  that  has  not 
yet  had  its  throat  cut.  Helen,  how  fat  you  must  be 
getting.  You  weigh  tons.  We'll  have  to  throw  the 
lunch  overboard.  Or  perhaps  it  would  be  simpler 
if  you  stepped  ashore  for  a  moment.  You  can  easily 
step  on  to  the  bank  from  there." 

He  pulled  the  canoe  over  the  shoal  and  took  it  where 
she  could  get  in  again.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der as  she  stepped  in. 

"  You  darling,"  she  said.  "  You  can  stop  now.  I'm 
better." 

"  That's  good  work,"  said  Martin.  "  Because,  really 
I  was  beginning  to  run  rather  dry.  You  mightn't  have 
thought  it." 

"  I  didn't.  I  had  no  idea  of  it.  I  thought  there 
was  any  amount  more." 

"  I  can  manage  ten  minutes  more,  if  you  like,"  said 
Martin. 

"  No;  I'm  going  to  talk  now.  Martin,  if  you  look 
suddenly  grave  like  that  I  shall  begin  to  laugh." 

"  Well,  give  me  a  couple  of  minutes."  said  the  out- 
raged Martin.  "  We  always  have  an  interval  after  the 
rot  before  we  begin  to  talk.  Otherwise,  you  know,  we 
always  laugh.  One  always  laughs  at  anything  abrupt. 
Don't  you  know  the  story  of  the  man  who  was  sud- 
denly told  his  wife  was  dead?  Just  like  that.  He 
said,  *  Oh,  how  shocking !'  and  burst  into  shrieks  of 
laughter.  And  he  was  really  devoted  to  her,  and  never 
smiled  again  for  years." 


THE    CHALLONERS  173 

Helen  gave  up  all  attempts  at  gravity,  and  the  two 
foolish  twins  laughed  till  they  were  completely  ex- 
hausted, while  the  Canadian  canoe  went  slowly  circling 
round  and  round  down  the  river. 

So  they  landed  and  lunched,  as  Martin  refused  to 
drag  the  boat  any  more  till  he  had  eaten  and  by  de- 
grees recovered  themselves.  Then,  taking  to  the  canoe 
again,  they  paddled  and  talked. 

"  It  has  been  dreadful  at  home,  Martin,"  said  she. 
"  Father  hardly  speaks  at  all.  He  has  been  very  gentle 
since  that  scene  with  Frank  and  me,  yet  even  that  was 
hardly  so  bad  as  his  silence  and  quietness  now.  He 
is  suffering  horribly,  too ;  I  am  sure  of  it.  Sometimes 
I  see  him  looking  at  me  with  a  sort  of  appeal  in  his 
eyes  like  a  dumb  animal.  That  is  the  worst  of  all ;  I 
feel  such  a  brute." 

"  You  suffer,  too,"  said  Martin,  quickly. 

"  I  know ;  but  though  they  all — Uncle  Rupert,  Lady 
Sunningdale — think  I  am  right,  that  doesn't  make  me 
feel  less  of  a  brute.  Besides,  there  is  no  '  right'  about 
it.  I  can't  give  him  up,  and  father  can't  bear  it.  And 
every  evening  he  uses  the  prayer  for  Jews,  Turks,  and 
infidels." 

Martin  frowned. 

"  That  is  not  good  manners,"  he  said,  "  with  you 
there." 

"  Oh,  Martin,  manners  don't  come  into  it.  The 
truth  of  father's  beliefs  is  so  overwhelmingly  real  to 
him  that  he  can't  think  of  anything  else.  That  light 
is  so  strong  that  he  can  see  nothing  but  it.  It  is  soberly 
the  whole  world  to  him." 

"  But  it  isn't  as  if  Frank  was  immoral,"  said  Martin. 

"  I  believe  he  would  mind  that  less,"  said  she. 


174  THE    CHALLONERS 

Martin  swung  the  canoe  round  a  half-submerged 
tree-trunk,  where  the  water  sucked  and  gurgled. 

"  But  how  unreasonable,"  he  cried.  "  Frank  can't 
help  his  want  of  belief.  But  we  can  all,  in  some  de- 
gree, help  making  brutes  of  ourselves." 

Helen  sat  up  suddenly,  causing  the  boat  to  rock. 

"  I  can't  live  my  life  on  other  people's  lines,"  she 
said,  "  any  more  than  I  expect  others  to  live  theirs 
on  my  lines.  '  I  am  I.'  I  remember  Frank  quoting 
that  to  me  the  Sunday  he  walked  back  with  me  from 
Chartries.  That  has  been  like  leaven ;  it  has  fermented 
and  expanded  within  me.  But,  after  all,  is  it  only 
another  way  of  saying  '  I  shall  be  as  selfish  as  I 
please' ?" 

"  Of  course  not.  That  is  what  people  think  who 
haven't  got  any  individuality  of  their  own.  Lots  of 
people  haven't.  They  are  like  mirrors  slightly 
cracked,  which  reflect  with  certain  dimnesses  and  dis- 
tortions what  is  put  opposite  them.  They  say  individu- 
ality is  selfishness.     What  bosh !" 

"  Aunt  Susan  hasn't  got  any,"  remarked  Helen,  let- 
ting the  conversation  drift  away  a  little.  "  It  is  that 
which  makes  her  so  restful.  Her  mind  is  like  a 
cushion.  It  is  quite  soft,  and  if  you  lean  on  it  you 
make  great  dents  in  it." 

Martin  remained  quite  serious,  staring  at  the  water 
with  vacant  black  eyes. 

"  Poor  father !"  he  said  at  length.  "  Just  think ;  you 
and  me,  Helen.     He  must  find  us  awfully  trying." 

"  I  know ;  and  he  continues  to  love  us  so.  It  is 
that  which  makes  it  so  dreadful.  Oh,  Martin,  do  get 
through  your  stupid  examination.  Do  turn  out  satis- 
factory, as  I've  been  so  eminently  the  reverse." 


THE    CHALLONERS  175 

Martin  transferred  his  gaze  to  his  sister. 

"  I  really  don't  think  there's  much  chance  of  it," 
he  said. 

"  Of  your  getting  through?" 

"  I  might  manage  that.  But  there  are  other  things. 
The  career  I  propose,  for  instance." 

"  But  he's  reconciled  to  that,"  said  Helen.  "  That's 
nothing  new." 

Martin  paddled  on  without  answering  this,  and 
Helen  looked  at  him  rather  closely. 

"  There  is  something  more,"  she  said.  "  What  is  it? 
Is  there  not  something  more?" 

He  brought  the  boat  up  to  the  bank  in  Byron's  pool, 
where  they  were  to  disembark. 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  he  said.  "  At  least,  there  may  be. 
There  is  no  use  in  my  telling  you  now.  If  it  happens, 
if  I  am  sure  it  is  going  to  happen,  I  will  tell  you  be- 
forehand. I  promise  you  that.  And  now  I  think  we 
won't  talk  any  more  about  it." 

But  a  sudden  uneasiness  seized  the  girl. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing,"  she  said.  "  Promise  me 
it  is  nothing  disgraceful." 

Martin  looked  rather  injured. 

"  No ;  I  have  not  been  stealing  hens,"  he  said. 
"  And  it  is  compatible  with  the  highest  character." 

Helen  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  Then  I'm  not  afraid,"  she  said.  "  And  I  will  try 
not  to  guess  at  it  until  you  tell  me." 

The  afternoon  was  intensely  hot,  and  having  arrived 
here,  they  settled  that  a  boat  under  trees  was  far  more 
to  the  point  than  walking  under  the  blaze  of  the  sun, 
and  Helen  merely  reclined  more  recumbently  on  a  pile 
of  cushions. 


176  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  I  think  we  will  go  for  a  walk  to-morrow,  Martin," 
she  said,  "  instead  of  to-day." 

"  That  may  be.  By  the  way,  I  met  last  week  that 
nice  girl  who  was  down  at  Chartries  on  the  Sunday 
when  I  got  into  so  many  rows.    What  was  her  name?" 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,"  said  Helen. 

"  Yes,  you  have.     Oh,  I  know — Miss  PI Oh, 

yes, — Stella  Plympton." 

Helen  did  not  answer  for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  I  shall  go  to  sleep,"  she  said.     "  Martin !" 

"Well?" 

"  You  did  that  remarkably  badly,"  she  said;  " a  cow 
could  give  you  points  in  dissimulation.  You  remem- 
bered her  name  perfectly." 

Dr.  Arne,  at  whose  house  on  the  Trumpington 
Road  Helen  was  staying,  was  probably  as  nearly 
happy  as  is  possible  to  the  sons  of  men,  who  have  so 
marked  a  genius  for  discontent.  Whether  his  happi- 
ness was  worth  much  and  what  it  all  came  to  is 
another  question ;  but  happy  he  was, — an  affair  of  im- 
mense importance  not  only  to  himself,  but  to  all  on 
whom  his  imperturbable  serenity  shone.  For  Provi- 
dence had  endowed  him  with  an  apparently  insatiable 
curiosity  about  the  chorus-metres  in  Greek  plays,  and 
also  with  an  intuitive  perception  as  regards  this  ex- 
tremely difficult  and  no  doubt  fascinating  branch  of 
knowledge,  which  had  proved  itself  capable  of  being 
trained  into  something  approaching  the  perfection  of 
acumen.  His  intellectual  ambitions  were  thus  com- 
pletely satisfied,  and  being  without  any  passion  but  this, 
which  the  fact  that  he  was  tutor  of  his  college  enabled 
him  to  gratify  without  stint,  there  was  really  no  pos- 


THE    CHALLONERS  177 

sible  chink  at  which  the  bitter  wind  of  discontent  could 
enter  and  make  draughts.  The  same  good  fortune  had 
attended  his  marriage,  for  he  had  wooed  and  won  a 
woman  of  good  birth  and  breeding,  whose  only  desire, 
as  far  as  he  was  aware,  was  to  make  her  husband  not 
happy, — he  was  that  already, — but  comfortable.  Ex- 
tremely edible  meals  were  offered  to  his  notice  at  hours 
of  his  choosing,  no  sacriligious  hand  ever  disturbed  the 
papers  in  his  study,  his  wife  walked  with  him  after 
lunch,  and,  unless  they  had  people  dining  with  them 
or  were  themselves  bidden  to  other  feasts,  played  pic- 
quet  with  him  after  dinner.  His  mode  of  progression 
along  roads  was  naturally  a  little  quicker  than  hers,  his 
play  of  the  hand  at  cards  a  shade  less  mediocre,  and 
in  consequence  he  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  slight 
domestic  superiority.  The  same  atmosphere,  though 
not  domestic,  surrounded  him  in  his  studies,  for,  to 
make  a  rough  statement  of  the  matter,  he  knew  rather 
more  about  Greek  chorus-metres  than  anybody  else 
had  ever  done.  His  bodily  health,  moreover,  if  not 
exuberant, — he  would  have  found  exuberance  very 
trying, — was  excellent;  he  appeared,  in  fact,  to  be  as 
immune  to  the  frailties  and  disorders  of  the  flesh  as 
he  was  to  any  unsatisfied  cravings  of  the  spirit.  He 
was  also  childless;  and  though  he  was  not  consciously 
grateful  for  this,  he  was  aware  that  he  desired  neither 
more  distractions,  anxieties,  or  even  joys  than  he  pos- 
sessed in  such  completeness. 

Lady  Susan  Arne  had  been  compared  by  her  niece  to 
a  cushion ;  and,  indeed,  the  superficial  similarity — not, 
indeed,  in  point  of  looks,  for  Lady  Susan  was  remark- 
ably well-favoured — in  the  nature  of  the  two  was 
extremely  striking  when  once  it  had  been  pointed  out. 

12 


178  THE    CHALLONERS 

It  was  true  that  if  one  leaned  on  Lady  Susan's  mind 
there  was  no  firm  resistance,  only  a  large  dent  seemed 
to  have  been  made  in  hers.  But  Helen,  with  a  certain 
impatience  in  her  survey,  had  overlooked  the  existence 
of  a  permanent  dent  there,  a  thing  entirely  foreign  to 
cushions.  She,  Helen,  it  is  true,  might  lean  and  make 
a  dent,  and  that  the  next  person  who,  so  to  speak,  shook 
Aunt  Susan  up,  or  leaned  upon  her  in  another  place, 
would  (still  in  Helen's  view)  efface  the  first  dent; 
but  in  a  corner  of  her,  where  no  one  ever  thought  of 
leaning  or  looking,  there  was  a  permanent  and  un- 
effaceable  dent.  This  was  made  in  the  first  place  by  the 
ungratified  yearning  for  a  child  of  her  own;  it  was 
now  daily  renewed  by  the  knowledge  of  its  impossi- 
bility. There  was  in  her,  in  fact,  a  potential  vitality 
which  under  other  circumstances  might  have  made 
of  her  a  woman,  not  a  housekeeper,  and  have  given  her 
points  more  directly  in  contact  with  life  than  were 
picquet  and  constitutionals.  As  it  was,  she  had  ex- 
perienced none  of  the  divine  unsatisfiedness  which  ful- 
ness of  life  alone  brings  with  it;  she  knew  only  the 
content  of  a  rather  empty  existence.  And  Helen, 
judging  with  the  impatience  of  youth,  which  is^kin  to 
the  impatience  of  kittens  or  puppies  with  inanimate 
objects  that  will  not  come  and  play  with  them,  had 
overlooked  this.  For,  in  truth.  Aunt  Susan  was  not 
inanimate;  tucked  away  in  a  corner  of  the  cushion 
was  a  real,  live  thing  that  groped  for  life  and  light, 
and  she,  the  individual,  was  like  a  room  made  ready 
for  the  reception  of  guests, — chairs  and  tables  in  order, 
games  put  out  for  their  entertainment,  but  until  the 
guests  began  to  arrive  the  room  was  in  darkness.  Aunt 
Susan  stood  there,  match-box  in  hand,  so  to  speak, 


THE    CHALLONERS  179 

waiting  for  the  first  ring  at  the  bell  to  light  up  her 
tapers  and  shew  how  orderly,  how  fragrant,  how 
charming  (a  little  old-fashioned,  too)  her  room  was, 
how  thoughtfully  arranged  for  the  pleasure  of  others. 
But  no  ring  had  yet  come  at  her  door-bell,  and  she 
still  stood  there,  very  patient  and  still  smiling,  but  still 
waiting. 

Lady  Susan,  on  Helen's  arrival,  knew  only  vaguely 
that  something  uncomfortable  had  happened  at  the 
vicarage;  but  Helen,  the  first  evening  she  was  there, 
had  confided  to  her,  rather  as  one  may  confide  on  cold 
nights  to  one's  pillow  or  to  bedclothes  tucked  round  the 
neck,  the  history  of  the  last  few  days.  But  she  neither 
knew  nor  would  have  guessed  it  possible  that  the  news 
had  kept  Aunt  Susan  awake  half  the  night,  and  that 
while  she  herself  was  up  the  river  with  Martin  her 
aunt  had  gone  about  her  household  businesses  and 
taken  her  walk  with  her  husband  in  such  a  tremor  of 
excitement  that  he  had  to  hurry  after  her,  instead  of 
hanging  on  his  step  to  wait  for  her.  In  all  these  tran- 
quil years  at  Cambridge  she  had  never  been  brought 
into  contact  with  a  thing  that  moved  her  like  this.  The 
gentle  ministrations  in  which  her  years  were  passed 
had  not  touched  her  emotions,  which,  had  not  her 
yearnings  for  a  child  kept  them  alive,  would  probably 
long  ago  have  fossilised.  But  those  yearnings  had 
nourished  and  rendered  mature  their  sweet,  delicate 
sensitiveness,  and  now  when  they  were  aroused,  though 
even  in  this  second-hand  manner,  they  responded  in- 
stantly, gently  vibrating,  not  with  a  crackle  of  dry 
autumn  leaves,  but  like  foliage  of  aspen  in  the  breath  of 
spring. 

Helen  got  back  to  this  house  of  quiet  towards  five 


180  THE    CHALLONERS 

in  the  afternoon,  and  found  her  aunt  and  Dr.  Arne 
at  tea  on  the  lawn  behind  the  house.  The  latter,  how- 
ever, soon  went  indoors  to  enjoy — literally  enjoy — his 
couple  of  hours'  work  before  dinner,  after  forewarning 
them  as  to  possible  dampness  on  the  grass  after  sunset. 

"And  have  you  enjoyed  yourself,  dear?"  asked 
Aunt  Susan,  pleasantly;  "and  was  the  lunch  I  gave 
you  really  sufficient?  Dear  Martin  has  always  such  a 
beautiful  appetite.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  him  eat  his 
dinner." 

"  Yes,  dear  aunt,  we  had  heaps.  And  it  was  all 
so  good,  and  so  beautifully  done  up.  Exactly  like 
you." 

Aunt  Susan,  who  always  looked  like  a  kind,  little, 
animated  Dresden  shepherdess,  flushed  a  little. 

"And  so  you  had  a  nice  day?"  she  said.  "  And  no 
upsets?  Martin  is  so  reckless  on  water.  Dear  Helen, 
is  it  quite  wise  to  take  off  your  hat  ?  It  may  turn  sud- 
denly chilly." 

Helen  laughed,  and  threw  it  on  the  grass. 

"  No ;  no  upsets,  and  quite  wise.  Aunt  Susan.  But 
a  nice  day  ?  There  was  everything  to  make  it  nice  ex- 
ternally; but  one's  nice  days  are  made  inside  one,  I 
think.  And  just  now  my  machine  for  making  nice 
days  creaks  and  groans;  it  is  out  of  order." 

Aunt  Susan,  though  far  too  shy  to  take  the  initiative, 
was  longing  for  the  least  thing  that  could  be  considered 
an  introduction  of  this  topic. 

"  Do  you  know,  dear,  I  lay  awake  half  the  night 
thinking  of  you  and  your  trouble,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,"  cried  Helen.  "  I  ought  not  to 
have  told  you  so  late  last  night.  Selfish  little  pig  I 
am!" 


THE    CHALLONERS  181 

Aunt  Susan  patted  her  hand  gently. 

"  Dear,  it  was  deUcious,"  she  said,  "  lying  awake 
and  thinking  about  you.  I  am  afraid  I  actually  en- 
joyed it.  Not  that  I  am  not  very,  very  sorry  for  you 
and  your  father  and  Lord  Yorkshire ;  but  when  I  said 
it  was  delicious,  I  meant  it  was  so  real,  so  alive,  so 
very  interesting.  I  don't  think  I  have  lain  awake  more 
than  a  few  minutes  in  the  last  couple  of  years,  and 
that  was  when  your  uncle  had  the  influenza.  And  then 
it  was  only  his  cough  that  kept  me  awake;  I  was  not 
anxious,  for  he  had  it  very  slightly.  Now,  if  you  do 
not  mind  talking  about  it,  do  tell  me  more.  You  told 
me  just  the  facts.  Tell  me  what  you  feel.  How  does 
it  touch, — I  am  so  stupid  at  saying  things, — not  what 
you  will  do  only,  your  actions,  but  yourself?" 

The  question  implied  a  perception  with  which  Helen 
had  not  credited  her  aunt. 

"  Ah,  what  a  difference  there  is  between  them !"  she 
said,  quickly.  "  One's  actions  may  so  frightfully  belie 
one.  What  one  does  is  so  often  a  parody  of  one's 
best.  One's  worst  part  acts,  while  one's  best  does 
nothing,  turns  its  face  to  the  wall,  like  Hezekiah.  Or, 
or" — she  was  still  kindly  trying  to  explain  to  this  dear 
little  Dresden  shepherdess — "  one's  actions  are  often 
like  an  unsympathetic  repetition  of  something  one 
has  really  said,  which  gives  quite  a  different  meaning 
to  it.    Do  you  understand?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  dear,  quite,"  said  Lady  Susan.  "  Surely 
everybody  understands  that.  All  the  same  it  is  our 
business  if  we  are  kind  and  good  at  all  not  to  be 
harsh  or  hard  in  what  we  do." 

Suddenly  Helen's  eyes  were  opened.  In  a  flash  she 
saw  that  she  had  been  doing  what  she  deprecated,  and 


182  THE    CHALLONERS 

hitherto  had  judged  Aunt  Susan  merely  by  her  actions. 
With  the  impatience  that  was  so  very  characteristic  of 
her,  she  had  observed  her  ordering  dinner,  taking  the 
walk,  playing  picquet,  and  otherwise  having  a  great 
deal  of  rather  fragrant  leisure  with  which  she  did 
nothing.  From  this  she  had  drawn  the  conclusion  that 
there  was,  so  to  speak,  no  one  really  there,  only  a 
punctual  little  domestic  automaton.  She  had  been  so 
taken  up  with  the  fact  that  others  did  not  understand 
her,  did  not  allow  for  her  individuality,  that  she  had 
as  yet  never  taken  the  trouble  to  consider  whether 
these  others  also  had  not  their  own  individuality 
equally  to  be  respected.  Aunt  Susan,  she  would  have 
said  offhand,  had  none,  yet  she  was  referring  to  as 
a  mere  commonplace  what  was  still  to  Helen  a  blinding 
discovery.  And  she  went  on  talking  with  a  freedom 
and  a  certainty  of  being  understood  that  she  associated 
only  with  the  beloved  twin. 

"  Well,  it  is  just  that,"  she  said.  "  Any  one, — you. 
Uncle  David, — any  one  may  say  it  is  merely  heartless, 
merely  selfish  of  me  to  go  my  own  way,  to  pay  no 
attention  to  the  wish — ah,  it  is  much  stronger  than 
that — of  my  father.  Or  you  may  think  that  I  don't 
really  know  how  strong  his  objection  to  my  marriage 
is.  I  do  know,  I  fully  know.  And  knowing  that, 
knowing  also  that  he  is  my  father,  that  I  owe  nearly 
everything  to  him,  that  he  loves  me  and  I  love  him, 
I  am  going  to  do,  you  may  say,  as  I  choose^  throwing 
away  all  the  love  and  the  care  he  has  spent  on  me, 
repudiating  my  debts  to  him.  But  I  don't.  Oh,  Aunt 
Susan,  I  don't  throw  away  his  love  or  repudiate  my 
debts.  It  is  not  fair  to  say  that.  Simply  I  can't  help 
it — I  must.     Something  has  come  which  is  stronger 


THE    CHALLONERS  183 

than  everything  else.  Ah,  Aunt  Susan,  you  know 
what  it  is." 

Lady  Susan's  delicate  little  china-looking  face 
flushed  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  At  least  I  know 
some  of  it.  We  women  are  meant  to  be  wives  and 
mothers.  I  know  half  of  what  a  woman  longs  to 
know.  And  the  half  I  know,  dear  Helen,  is  so  very 
fine  that  it  is  worth  making  some  little  sacrifice  for  it." 

"Sacrifice?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  Yes.  I  cannot  tell  you  in  great  language  what  I 
mean,  because  I  am  not  great  in  any  way,  so  I  will 
give  you  my  advice  in  one  short  word.  Wait.  Love 
is  so  good  that  it  will  not  spoil  by  being  kept;  it  will 
only  get  more  mature,  more  exquisite.  And  in  the 
mean  time  you  will  have  proved  yourself  a  good 
daughter,  too." 

"  But  why — why?"  asked  the  girl.  "  Nothing  will 
ever  change  what  father  feels  about  it,  nor  what  I  feel. 
It  only  means  that  for  six  months  more,  or  for  a  year 
more,  or  however  long  I  wait,  he  and  I  will  go  through 
dreadful  days.  It  is  awful  at  home,  Aunt  Susan; 
you  have  no  idea  how  awful.  If  it  would  get  any 
better  with  waiting,  I  would  do  as  you  suggest." 

The  older  woman  was  still  smiling  in  the  habitual 
way  which  Helen  had  so  often  thought  so  meaningless, 
so  objectless.  But  now,  as  she  looked,  she  saw  there 
was  a  very  cheerful  patience  about  the  smile  which 
somehow  she  had  not  noticed  before. 

"  It  is  true  it  may  not  get  better  with  waiting,"  she 
said,  "  for  it  is  possible  it  may  not.  But  you  will  have 
done  your  best,  not  only  thought  your  best.  You  will 
have  made  your  action  not,  as  you  say,  the  parody  of 


184  THE    CHALLONERS 

yourself,  but  the  faithful  expression  of  your  very  best 
self.  You  will  have  put  your  speech  into  no  unsym- 
pathetic mouth,  but  into  the  mouth  of  a  fine  actor." 

Another  current  seized  the  girl,  sweeping  her  im- 
petuously away.    She  laid  her  hand  on  her  aunt's  knee. 

"Are  you  unhappy.  Aunt  Susan?"  she  asked.  "  Oh, 
I  hope  not.  I  always  thought  you  were  so  contented, 
so — so  occupied  with  all  the  duties  you  do  so  well." 

Lady  Susan,  with  the  only  movement  of  impatience 
tliat  she  had  made  perhaps  for  years,  swept  her  hand 
away. 

"  Ah,  that  is  because  you  are  young,"  she  said,  "  and 
because  you  think  that  any  one  who  feels  an  impulse 
must  act  on  it,  if  she  wants  to  realise  her  life.  It  is 
not  so.  You  know  what  I  have  always  called  you  and 
Martin,  the  Volcanoes — dear  Volcanoes.  When  you 
feel  pressure  you  burst,  and  scatter  burning  ashes  any- 
where and  everywhere,  and  say  with  great  good- 
humour,  '  But  I  am  I.  If  I  want  to  burst,  I  must.' 
And  when  you  see  an  old  woman  like  me,  just  getting 
through  the  day's  work,  day  after  day,  week  after 
week,  with  a  little  dinner-party  here,  and  a  little  walk 
there,  and  a  litttle  ordering  of  the  household  all 
through,  you  think  'Is  that  all?  Is  that  life?'  And 
I  answer  you,  '  Yes;   that  is  life.'  " 

Helen  was  silent  a  moment,  suddenly  aware  that  for 
the  time  it  was  perhaps  wiser  to  listen  and  attend  than 
talk  about  her  own  individuality. 

"  Tell  me,  tell  me,"  she  said. 

"  My  dear,  there  is  very  little  to  tell,"  she  said. 
"  But  you  in  your  heydey  do  not  allow,  it  seems  to 
me,  for  the  fact  of  other  quiet  people  living  and  feeling 
perhaps  just  as  much  as  you  do.     Because  you  feel  a 


THE    CHALLONERS  185 

thing  you  scream.  You  will  learn  to  feel  a  thing,  we 
hope,  without  screaming.  I  think  young  people  tend 
to  scream  rather  more  than  we  used.  They  call  it 
living  their  own  lives.  That  possibly  may  be  a  mis- 
taken, or,  anyhow,  a  misleading  name  for  it." 

Again  Helen  had  no  reply.  But  this  did  not  seem  to 
her  at  all  like  want  of  individuality.  There  was  no 
screaming,  it  is  true,  and  no  assertion,  but  just  as  cer- 
tainly there  was  "  something  there."  And,  to  do  her 
justice,  she  respected  that.  But  her  aunt  paused  also, 
waiting  for  her  answer,  and  after  a  minute  she  spoke. 

"  Live  your  own  life,  then,  in  talk  with  me,"  she  said. 
"  Let  me  understand  it.  It  is  quite  true.  Aunt  Susan, 
I  have  judged  as  if  there  was  no  other  view  than  mine, 
while  the  whole  time  my  complaint — no,  not  that  ex- 
actly, but  you  understand — has  been  that  other  people 
behave  as  if  there  was  no  other  view  than  theirs! 
About  you,  for  instance.  I  didn't  know,  I  didn't  guess. 
I  thought  you  were — you  were  what  you  appeared." 

Lady  Susan  seemed  to  repent  of  her  hasty  move- 
ment, and  recaptured  Helen's  soft,  brown-skinned 
hand. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  am,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  At  least,  I 
choose  to  let  that  be  my  outward  expression  of  myself, 
the  expression  by  which  you,  Martin,  anybody,  may 
judge  me.  That  certainly  is  my  affair,  and  nobody 
else's." 

She  ceased  stroking  Helen's  hand  a  moment  and 
looked  up  at  her. 

"  But,  dear,  would  you  like  to  come  inside  me  a 
moment?  There  is  only  one  thing  there,  but  it  fills  my 
house.     Oh,  Helen,  if  I  had  had  a  child!" 

At  that  all  the  girl's  nature  rose. 


186  THE    CHALLONERS 

"Ah,  dear  aunt,  dear  aunt!"  she  said. 

Lady  Susan's  pretty  patient  smile  did  not  leave  her 
lips,  nor  did  any  tear  come  to  her  eyes.  The  sorrow 
was  too  old  and  too  eternally  alive  for  her  to  weep 
over  it  now.     And  she  went  on  quite  quietly : 

"If  only  I  had  been  given  the  chance  even  to  be 
made  as  unhappy  as  you  are  making  your  father,  dear, 
I  should  have  loved  it  so.  But  it  was  denied  me,  and 
by  no  fault  of  mine.  So  I  am  learning,  I  hope,  not  to 
grumble.  Ah,  but  it  is  hard  sometimes,  and  I  think 
I  miss  the  joys  of  love  as  you  would  count  joys,  Helen, 
less  than  I  miss  what  you  would  count  its  sorrows. 
But  those  are  its  opportunities.  Dear,  its  possibilities 
in  self-denial  and  self-abandonment.  That  is  Love 
triumphant,  not  crowned  with  roses,  but  crowned  with 
sharp,  beloved  thorns.  And  the  tragedy  of  love  is 
when  there  is  none  for  whom  it  can  sacrifice  itself." 

She  stroked  Helen's  hand  again  gently. 

"  Make  yourself  complete,  dear,"  she  said ;  "  there 
I  am  entirely  at  one  with  you.  But,  remember,  our 
souls  are  like  rose-trees,  I  think.  You  cut  and  prune 
them,  if  you  are  a  wise  gardener,  for  you  know  that 
by  the  cutting,  the  renunciation,  you  do  not  check  or 
hinder  your  development,  but  you  encourage  it.  You 
will  be  the  more  fragrant,  the  fuller  of  blossom  by  that 
which  you  might  hastily  say  was  a  piece  of  cruelty,  a 
stunting  of  your  growth." 

Her  kind  eyes  looked  away  from  Helen,  and  out 
over  the  sun-baked  lawn,  bordered  with  flower-beds, 
in  which,  clearly  to  comply  with  preconceived  notions 
of  a  garden  on  the  part  of  a  gardener,  lobelias  were 
set  in  a  formal  row  in  front,  and  behind  them  terrible, 
speckled  calceolarias  and  hard,  crude  geraniums.    That 


THE    CHALLONERS  187 

garden  had  often  seemed  to  Helen  very  typical  of  her 
aunt :  it  was  orderly  and  completely  conventional.  Be- 
yond Dr.  Arne's  study  windows  looked  from  the  red- 
brick house  across  the  grass,  and  from  where  they  sat 
she  could  see  him  at  a  table  littered  with  books  and 
manuscripts,  with  head  bent  over  his  work,  or  rising 
now  and  then  to  consult  some  book  of  reference  which 
he  took  from  the  volume-lined  walls.  That  sight,  also, 
had  often  seemed  to  her  very  typical;  the  Cambridge 
professor  was  at  his  work  (as,  indeed,  it  was  most 
right  and  proper  that  he  should  be),  but  that  to  him 
was  all.  His  little  life  was  bounded  with  books;  on 
all  sides  stretched  limitless  deserts  of  particles  and 
chorus-metres.  But  now,  for  the  first  time,  Helen 
knew  how  erroneous  all  her  judgments  with  regard  to 
Aunt  Susan  had  been, — for  a  real  heart  beat  there,  and 
it  was  somebody,  somebody  very  distinct  and  indi- 
vidual, who  ordered  dinner  and  played  picquet.  Her 
life  was  not  negative,  emotionless;  it  was  only  her 
own  obtuseness  of  perception  that  had  so  labelled  it. 
Instead  it  was  sad ;  in  spite  of  all  its  quiet  cheerfulness 
it  was  as  sad  as  the  level  rays  of  the  sun  striking  hazily 
across  the  lawn;  as  sad  as  the  grey  spires  of  Kings 
which  rose  against  the  clear,  hot  blue  of  the  sky. 

And  the  pathos  of  it  suddenly  moved  her.  Was  that 
all  that  the  good  fairies  had  brought  to  her  aunt's 
cradle,  just  to  grow  quietly  and  gently  old,  she,  who 
might  have  been  so  fine,  missing  all  the  joy  and  riot 
of  life,  missing,  too,  the  crown  of  womanhood?  "  To 
live,  to  live!"  that  demand  was  battering  at  her  doors 
with  buffets  that  made  the  panels  start.  Yet  here  was 
the  dear  aunt,  who  had  heard  often  the  same  insistent 
visitor,  old,  but  sweet  and  unembittered,  though  it  had 


188  THE    CHALLONERS 

never  been  given  to  her  to  let  him  in,  knowing  all  she 
had  missed,  yet  not  soured  at  having  missed  it. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Susan,"  she  cried,  forgetting  herself, 
forgetting  all  else  in  a  young  creature's  somewhat  in- 
solent pity  for  the  old,  "  is  it  not  too  sad?  Is  it  not 
too  terribly  sad?  Is  that  everybody's  fate,  just  to  get 
older  and  older " 

Then,  with  the  strong,  unconscious  egotism  of  her 
years : 

"And  me?"  she  said.  "Will  that  happen  to  me, 
too?" 

"What?  Sadness?  Yes,  dear  Helen,  I  hope  so. 
No  woman  is  worth  very  much  until  she  has  been 
through  a  good  deal  of  sadness,  a  great  deal  of  want- 
ing what  she  cannot  get.  I  hope  you  will  go  through 
that.  But,  dear,  if  you  turn  bitter  under  it,  you  had 
almost  better  not  have  lived;  and  certainly  you  had 
better  die,  for  death  is  better  than  bitterness.  But  if 
you  take  the  love  and  the  sadness,  which  is  inseparable, 
from  life  without  bitterness,  it  strengthens  and  cleanses 
you.  And  you  will  certainly  emerge  from  it  a  far 
finer  creature  than  if  you  had  never  been  through  it. 
Emerge?  Ah,  it  may  last  to  the  day  of  your  death; 
but  what  then?    What  does  that  matter?" 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  the  shadows  grew  and 
lengthened  on  the  grass  as  Helen  sat  unseeing,  but 
absorbed,  gazing  wide-eyed  in  front  of  her.  She  felt 
ashamed,  humiliated  at  her  own  blindness;  she  had 
thought  of  her  aunt  as  some  dweller  in  the  valley,  while 
she  herself  was  climbing  the  snowfields  far  above  with 
eager,  untiring  foot.  But  now  at  the  summit,  or  near 
it,  she  saw  sitting  the  quiet,  patient  figure,  so  high  up 
that  she  had  not  seen  her  before. 


THE    CHALLONERS  189 

Then,  in  her  gentle  voice,  Aunt  Susan  broI<:e  in  on 
her  reverie. 

"  There,  dear,"  she  said,  "  the  sun  has  set;  let  us  go 
in.  And  do  tell  me,  Helen,  before  you  go  home,  what 
you  decide  to  do  about  this  very  difficult  choice  that  is 
before  you.  Of  course,  you  will  not  give  Lord  York- 
shire up.  I  think  that  would  be  very  wrong.  Do  not 
be  hasty;  do  not  judge  quickly.  But  do  confide  in  me 
again,  if  you  can.  It  is  a  great  privilege,  you  know, 
for  old  people  to  be  confided  in  by  the  young.  Come, 
it  is  time  to  dress;  there  are  a  few  people  to  dinner. 
Ah,  Martin  comes,  too.  I  had  quite  forgotten.  Dear 
me,  how  careless !  I  must  go  and  see  if  there  is  enough 
to  eat." 

Helen  rose  and  gave  her  a  great,  tempestuous 
hug. 

"  You  dear,  you  dear,"  she  said. 

And  then  Aunt  Susan,  after  her  excursion  into 
realities,  hurried  to  the  kitchen,  the  excellent  house- 
keeper again. 

There  must  have  been  something  in  the  conjunc- 
tivity  of  the  twins — except,  indeed,  at  the  vicarage  at 
Chartries — which  disposed  the  beholder  to  indefensible 
levity.  London  had  felt  their  spell,  and  even  Cam- 
bridge, it  appeared,  that  home  of  sweet  and  sober 
seriousness,  went  a  little  off  its  head  about  them.  The 
spell,  whatever  it  was,  lay  in  their  combination.  Helen 
alone,  it  is  true,  could  rouse  that  impulse  of  social 
gaiety  which  is  evoked  so  easily  by  a  girl's  beauty  and 
high  spirits,  and  Martin  could  make  other  people  enjoy 
themselves  by  the  sight  of  his  own  enormous  power 
that  way;    but  it  was  when  they  were  together  that 


190  THE    CHALLONERS 

resistance  was  clearly  hopeless,  and  it  is  worthy  of 
record  that  to-night,  after  dinner,  Dr.  Arne  and  a 
professor  of  poetry,  with  their  respective  wives  and 
the  twins  played  "  Ghosts"  in  the  garden.  Why 
these  elderly  people  did  it  they  could  not  have  told 
you ;  but  Martin  proposed  "  Ghosts,"  Helen  explained 
it  in  three  sentences,  and  the  studious  shades  were 
awakened  and  appalled  by  wild  shrieks. 

For  the  night  was  dark  and  moonless,  and  while 
five  out  of  these  six  foolish  people  hid  in  asparagus 
beds,  behind  tree-trunks,  in  the  wood-shed,  and  in 
other  black  and  dreadful  places,  the  professor  of  poetry 
(selected  by  lot)  was  in  honour  bound  to  make  the 
complete  circuit  of  the  garden,  conscious  that  at  any 
moment  a  ghost  with  curdling  yells  might  spring  out 
on  him,  or  even  worse,  scuttle  quickly  up  behind  him, 
or  perhaps,  worst  of  all,  he  might  suddenly  be  con- 
scious of  a  small,  crouching  figure  by  his  side  which 
accompanied  him  in  awful  silence,  ready  to  break  forth 
into  who  knew  what  hideous  and  babbling  speech? 
Thus  one  eye  had  to  be  kept  on  this  dreadful  object, 
while  simultaneously  the  whole  attention  had  to  be  on 
the  alert  in  case  of  some  new  reverent  from  the  bushes. 
The  professor  was  a  man  on  whom,  as  far  as  was 
known,  the  imputation  of  cowardice  had  never  yet  been 
laid,  but  at  the  first  attempt  to  make  the  black  circuit 
of  the  garden  he  found  he  could  not  possibly  face  the 
corner  by  the  wood-shed,  his  nerves  being  already 
utterly  unstrung  by  a  vague  form  that  groaned  among 
the  gooseberry  bushes.  He  paused  while  still  a  few 
yards  distant  from  this  dreadful  being,  and  then  fled 
with  flying  coat-tails  back  to  the  house,  where  in  the 
safety  of  the  lit  drawing-room  he  wiped  the  dews  of 


THE    CHALLONERS  191 

strangling    anguish    from    his    forehead    and    called 
lamentably  on  his  courage. 

Not  a  glimmer  from  the  worm,  in  the  darkness 
thick  and  hot,'  "  he  half  moaned  to  himself.  "  Oh,  this 
will  never  do!  I  am  aware  it  is  probably  only  Dr. 
Arne,  and  I  am  not  really  frightened  of  him.  Come, 
come." 

And,  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  he  set  out  again 
on  his  fascinating  and  abhorred  errand,  murmuring 
again,  "  '  In  the  darkness  thick  and  hot.  In  the  dark- 
ness thick  and  hot.     In  the  dark '     Oh,  dear  me, 

what  is  that?" 

The  poor  professor  suffered  for  his  momentary 
panic,  for  Helen  had,  in  his  hour  of  weakness  in  the 
drawing-room,  changed  her  place  to  behind  a  large 
flower-tub,  which  had  concealed  nobody  before.  Con- 
sequently, he  approached  it  inattentively,  without  cau- 
tion or  misgiving,  to  be  confronted,  shuddering,  by  a 
flapping  form  which  gasped  and  panted. 

He  made  a  fruitless  appeal. 

"  Dear  Miss  Helen,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  go  on.  I 
really  do  not  think  it  would  be  right.  My  work  will 
suffer.  But  is  it  Dr.  Arne  among  the  gooseberry 
bushes  or  is  it  Martin?  I  think  I  could  run  as  fast 
as  Dr.  Arne,  but  if " 

Hoots  of  unearthly  laughter  assailed  him  on  the 
other  side. 

Afterwards  they  played  "  Dumb  Crambo."  Lady 
Susan,  in  a  college  cap  and  a  dust-coat  of  Martin's, 
was  Alfred  letting  the  cakes  burn.  At  another  time 
Dr.  Arne  found  himself  to  be  Cleopatra,  with  Helen 
as  Mark  Antony.     He  chose  his  dresses  from  Helen's 


192  THE    CHALLONERS 

wardrobe — they  were  much  too  large  for  him — with 
immense  care,  and  subsequently  applied  a  paper- 
weight, in  the  form  of  a  snake,  to  his  bosom.  The 
professor  of  poetry  became  a  prize-fighter,  his  wife, 
a  godly  and  virtuous  woman  hitherto,  unexpectedly 
turned  out  to  be  Peace  the  murderer,  and  did  a  deed 
of  blood  with  immense  gusto  and  a  paper-knife.  Yet, 
all  the  time,  nobody  asked  himself  why  he  did  these 
silly  things;  the  twins  had  said  it  was  to  be  so,  and 
that  was  enough.  At  their  order,  too,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  golden  gates  of  youth  had  swung  open,  and  the 
tired  and  the  patient  and  the  elderly  and  the  wise  were 
bidden  to  enter  once  more  and  be  children  again. 

Helen's  visit  to  Cambridge  had  been  restricted  by  no 
statute  of  limitations  in  regard  to  time,  and  the  days 
passed  on,  the  vague  "  few  nights"  growing  to  a  week, 
and  the  week  to  a  magnified  fortnight.  For  these 
quiet,  uneventful  hours  in  which  (except  when  the 
twin  was  with  her)  even  the  ticking  of  clocks  seemed 
muffled  had  an  extraordinary  and  growing  charm  for 
her,  since  she  had  learned  that  behind  the  outward 
placidity  in  her  aunt  there  lay  a  very  real  inward  life 
in  which  she  longed  without  possibility  of  satisfaction 
and  suffered  without  bitterness.  That  somehow  to 
the  girl  seemed  to  lift  up  and  consecrate  Aunt  Susan's 
homely  little  employments,  which,  so  sweetly  and 
patiently  performed,  became  symbols  and  signs  of  a 
very  beautiful  character,  and  that  which  Helen  had 
thought  dull,  unperceptive,  unemotional,  was  now  lit 
from  within,  as  it  were,  by  the  uncomplaining  cheer- 
fulness which  gave  such  gentle,  unquestioning  welcome 
to  the  limitations  set  about  her.     For  Lady  Susan,  so 


THE    CHALLONERS  193 

her  niece  had  now  learned,  had  not  from  her  own  de- 
fective eyesight  set  her  horizons  so  close  about  her; 
circumstances,  childlessness  had  imposed  them,  and 
that  being  so,  she  had  taken  up  her  place  in  the  nar- 
rowed circle  with  resignation  so  cheerful  that  it  could 
scarcely  be  called  by  that  rather  depressing  name.  In 
fact,  the  gentle  old  lady  was  put  on  a  pedestal  in  the 
girl's  mind,  and  offerings  of  incense  were  made  her,  a 
position  which  now  and  then  she  found  slightly  em- 
barrassing, for  Helen,  in  her  first  moment  of  under- 
standing and  in  the  reaction  from  her  previous  hasty 
and  mistaken  judgment,  was  one  torrent  of  warm- 
hearted sympathy,  and  w^as  disposed  to  magnify  into 
heroism  the  performance  of  those  common  tasks,  just 
because  she  had  before  labelled  them  trivial. 

But  from  home — she  must  begin  taking  up  her  own 
little  burdens  at  once — there  came  no  word  for  her. 
She  herself  wrote  regularly  to  her  father,  but  morning 
after  morning  passed,  bringing  its  posts,  and  still  no 
answer  came  to  her.  Once  she  saw  among  the  letters 
laid  out  for  Aunt  Susan  one  addressed  in  the  brisk, 
scholarly  handwriting,  and  could  not  help  glancing  at 
her  aunt's  face  as  she  read  it.  But  she  said  nothing 
to  Helen,  and  replaced  the  letter  in  its  envelope  with  a 
troubled  little  sigh.  Martin,  also,  she  knew  had  heard 
from  him,  but  there  had  been  no  message  for  her,  no 
mention  even  of  her.  This  omission,  this  intentional 
disregard  of  her,  though  it  hurt  her,  made  her  sorry 
also,  not  for  herself,  but  for  him.  It  was  inhuman, 
but  she  knew  that  it  was  the  depth  and  earnestness  of 
his  feeling  about  her  engagement  that  made  him  in- 
human. On  the  other  hand,  she  heard  constantly  from 
Frank,  who  hinted  that  if  not  a  day,  at  any  rate  a 

13 


194  THE    CHALLONERS 

season  might  be  ever  so  vaguely  indicated  to  which 
he  could  look  forward. 

The  term  was  drawing  to  its  close,  and  Martin 
would  go  home  in  a  few  days'  time.  It  was  understood 
that  Helen  would  go  with  him ;  and  as  the  day  of  de- 
parture got  near,  she  knew  that  her  decision  must  be 
made,  so  far  as  it  concerned  herself,  as  to  whether  she 
should  put  off  her  marriage  for  some  definite  time, 
and  do  the  daughter's  part  to  her  father,  living  at 
home,  obeying  him,  performing  her  parish  duties  as 
before,  making  amende,  as  far  as  she  could,  for  the 
great  act  of  disobedience  which  she  was  going  to  com- 
mit. Practically,  she  did  not  see  the  use  of  it;  no 
good,  as  far  as  she  could  judge,  would  come  of  it; 
yet,  in  a  way,  Aunt  Susan  was  right,  the  meaning  of 
it,  the  sentiment  of  it,  was  sound.  It  would  not  be 
easy;  it  would  be  full  of  sustained  effort,  of  sustained 
self-repression.  Intercourse  would  be  crammed  with 
misunderstanding,  the  atmosphere  would  be  full  of 
frictional  disturbances,  but  she  saw  there  would  be  a 
certain  moral  gain  to  set  against  this.  Also,  and  this, 
too,  had  a  very  sensible  weight  with  her,  there  would 
be  gain  to  her  in  the  completeness  of  which  her  aunt 
had  spoken.  Ever  since  she  had  consciously  woke  to 
her  own  individuality  her  eagerness  for  her  own  im- 
provement and  enlargement  had  been  of  a  very  vivid 
sort.  And  perhaps  the  most  excellent  way  of  all  had 
been  here  set  before  her  to  compass  that,  not  by  work- 
ing for  it,  but  by  apparently  limiting,  maiming,  dis- 
couraging it.  That  was  a  very  simple,  very  elementary 
suggestion,  yet  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  in  this  con- 
nection. And  it  was,  well,  less  crude  than  the  other 
method. 


THE    CHALLONERS  195 

The  evening  before  her  departure  she  took  the  op- 
portunity provided  by  Dr.  Arne's  going  to  his  chorus- 
metres  after  tea  to  talk  to  her  aunt  again.  It  had 
been  a  chilly  day,  touched  with  the  autumnal  sadness 
of  early-falling  leaves,  and  early-falling  dusk,  and  the 
window-panes  streamed.  Though  it  was  still  August, 
a  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  and  she  sat  down  on  the 
floor  by  her  aunt's  chair. 

"  Father  has  not  written  to  me  once  since  I  came 
here,"  she  said.  "  He  has  written  to  you  and  to  Mar- 
tin I  know,  but  there  has  never  been  a  message  to  me. 
I  don't  say  this  in  any  complaint,  Aunt  Susan;  but 
what  is  one  to  do  when  that  happens?" 

Lady  Susan  shut  the  book  she  was  reading.  She 
had  been  expecting  Helen  to  mention  this,  but  was  un- 
willing to  open  the  subject  herself. 

"  I  know  he  has  not,  dear,"  she  said,  "  and  I  think 
it  very  wrong  of  him.  I  have  told  him  so.  But  don't 
let  it  hurt  you,  Helen.  If  other  people,  yes,  misbe- 
have, there  is  never  anything  to  be  done  except  to  go 
on  '  behaving'  one's  self.  And  never  let  what  other 
people  do  hurt  you.  For  nothing  can  really  hurt  us 
except  what  we  do  ourselves." 

"  Ah,  but  in  a  way  I  have  done  it,"  said  the  girl. 
"  At  least,  it  is  in  consequence  of  what  I  have  done." 

"  No ;  your  father  is  wrong,  I  think,"  said  Lady 
Susan,  with  gentle  decision.  "And  now,  dear,  as  you 
are  going  away  to-morrow,  I  want  to  ask  you  some- 
thing. You  go  home  with  Martin,  do  you  not?  And 
then?    Have  you  made  up  your  mind?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not  give  up  Frank,  but 
I  will  put  it  all  off  till  next  May.  Of  course,  if  he 
wishes,  he  is  absolutely  free." 


196  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Ah,"  said  Aunt  Susan,  gently.  "It  is  likely  he 
would  wish  that,  I  suppose." 

Helen  laughed. 

"Well,  no;  not  very.  But  till  then  I  shall  live  at 
home,  if  father  will  let  me,  and  try  in  every  way  to 
please  him." 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

"  And  I  hope  he  will  accept  that,"  she  said.  "  And 
I  hope  he  will  be  good  to  me  and  forgive  me." 

Lady  Susan  stroked  her  hair  in  silence  a  moment. 

"  You  have  chosen  right,  dear,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER    IX 

Helen  was  sitting  again  at  the  deal  table  in  the 
"  Room,"  trying  to  balance  the  accounts  of  the  quarter. 
A  money-box,  cheap  but  not  strong,  probably  made  in 
Germany,  with  a  florid  ornament  of  tin  tacked  on 
round  its  maw,  stood  open  by  her  left  hand,  and  on 
the  table  was  a  heap  of  money,  consisting  chiefly  of 
pennies  and  small  silver  coins, — the  subscription  to  the 
"  Room"  being  threepence  a  quarter, — while  by  her 
right  hand  was  a  pile  of  equally  mean  bills,  chiefly 
ending  with  a  halfpenny,  for  brown  holland,  cotton, 
slate-pencils,  needles,  and  gum.  There  was  a  discrep- 
ancy somewhere  of  ninepence,  but  add  and  subtract 
as  she  would,  that  ninepence  held  its  ground  like  the 
remnant  of  the  Old  Guard.  Had  it  been  only  deficit, 
the  remedy  from  her  own  pocket  would  have  been 
easy,  but,  unfortunately,  there  was  ninepence  too  much, 
and,  though  her  conscience  would  not  have  made  any 
protest  at  her  supplying  it,  it  did  not  permit  her  either 
to  pocket  it  or  to  forge  a  non-existent  bill.  And  all 
the  time  her  natural  impatience,  mixed  luckily  with  a 
certain  sense  of  humour,  said  to  her,  "  Is  it  possible  to 
conceive  a  less  profitable  way  of  wasting  time  than  in 
trying  to  make  ninepence  vanish?"  Her  father,  how- 
ever, with  the  attention  to  detail  which  was  so  marked 
a  characteristic  of  his,  always  looked  over  the  accounts 
afterwards,  and  whether  there  was  a  discrepancy  of  a 
thousand  pounds  or  a  penny  it  made  no  difference,  the 

197 


198  THE    CHALLONERS 

principle  of  admitting  discrepancy  was  equally  danger- 
ous in  either  case. 

The  twins  had  been  at  home,  in  a  state  of  total 
eclipse  for  two  days  of  ominous  parental  silence.  Mr. 
Challoner,  as  usual,  was  busy ;  Helen  was  busy  also,  for 
after  her  absence  there  was  more  than  enough  at  pres- 
ent to  occupy  her  day.  But  she  had  not  yet  broached 
the  subject  that  was  at  the  root  of  the  silence:  until 
the  skies  cleared  a  little  she  felt  absolutely  unable  to  do 
so.  Her  father  also  had  said  nothing  about  it;  they 
ate,  they  drank,  the  weather  was  mentioned,  and  the 
danger  of  trouble  in  the  East.  Mr.  Qialloner  himself, 
except  when  he  read  prayers,  had  hardly  said  half  a 
dozen  words  in  Helen's  presence :  it  was  "  good-night" 
and  "  good-morning,"  and  both  were  bad.  Martin 
also  was,  so  to  speak,  in  prison,  though  not,  like  his 
sister,  in  the  condemned  cell.  He  read  Demosthenes  in 
his  father's  study  while  the  latter  was  writing  his 
sermon,  fell  asleep  and  was  detected,  awoke,  and  wrote 
a  futile  supererogatory  set  of  Greek  iambics  contain- 
ing several  false  quantities  and  forms  of  aorists  pre- 
viously unknown  and  very  interesting. 

This  morning  Helen  had  received  a  letter  from 
Frank  that  troubled  her,  for  he  pressed,  where  he  had 
only  hinted  before,  for  some  definite  sort  of  date. 
Reasonably  enough,  he  saw  no  cause  for  delay;  he 
knew  that  in  spite  of  her  father's  feelings  she  had 
accepted  his  devotion ;  that  was  all  her's,  waiting  for 
her  to  reward  it.  The  tone  was  not  querulous.  If  it 
had  been,  the  letter  she  must  write  would  have  been 
less  difficult.  It  was  simply  and  sincerely  trustful.  But 
before  she  wrote  she  must  talk  to  her  father;  that 
could  be  put  off  no  longer. 


THE    CHALLONERS  199 

For  the  moment,  however,  the  "  sad  mechanic  exer- 
cise" of  the  accounts  occupied  her  attention.  But, 
though  the  superficial  brain  which  was  employed  on 
addition  had  its  work  before  it,  all  that  was  round  her 
— the  walls,  the  floor,  the  aspect  of  the  room,  the  neat, 
new^  brown-holland  covers  of  the  library — took  that 
part  of  her  brain  that  really  felt  and  lived  back  to  the 
day  when  she  sat  there  last.  The  map  of  geological 
strata  was  there,  too,  with  its  auriferous  belt,  and  she 
remembered  very  well  Frank's  words  about  that: 
"  There  is  a  gold-bearing  vein  in  all  we  are  set  to 
do.  The  trouble  is  to  find  it."  Yes,  indeed,  that 
was  the  trouble.  She  did  not  rebel  against  the  su- 
perfluous ninepence,  except,  indeed,  humorously; 
but  what  seemed  to  her  such  hard  and  barren  rock 
was  the  living  in  this  hopeless  silence.  Her  conscience, 
her  whole  sense  of  moral  obligation,  had  accepted  the 
principle  indicated  to  her  by  the  dear  aunt — sofa- 
cushion  no  longer — of  this  wider  self-completion  to  be 
attained  by  behaving  rightly  in  all  relations  of  life. 
But  at  present  she  had  been  throwing  good  money 
after  bad.  The  dutiful  daughter  had  come  home. 
No  more  notice  was  taken  of  her  than  of  a  mended 
window-pane. 

Mr.  Challoner  always  opened  doors  smartly.  Thus, 
when  the  outer  door  of  the  "  Room,"  which  gave  on 
to  a  small  lobby  where  wet  coats  were  hung,  gave  a 
quick  rattle  of  latch,  she  knew,  with  the  same  cer- 
tainty as  she  had  known  the  crisp  foot  on  the  gravel, 
who  came. 

"  Have  you  finished  the  accounts  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  can't  get  them  quite  right,  father,"  she  said.  "  I 
think " 


200  THE   CHALLONERS 

"  You  have  the  bills  and  the  receipts,  have  you  not  ?" 
he  said.     "  Where  are  they  ?" 

Helen  resented  this,  but  silently;  no  shadow  of  it 
appeared  in  her  face  or  voice. 

"  They  are  all  here,"  she  said.  "  I  have  ninepence 
more  than  I  should." 

Mr.  Challoner  sat  down  and  counted  up  the  silver 
and  pence,  arranging  them  in  neat  shilling  heaps  with 
all  the  care  he  would  have  given  to  a  total  of  millions. 
Then  rejecting  her  addition,  he  added  up  the  receipted 
bills,  and  her  mistake,  one  of  pure  carelessness,  was 
patent. 

"  That  balances  them,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  I  had 
better  do  the  accounts  for  the  future.  If  I  have  to  do 
them  in  the  long  run,  I  may  as  well  do  them  at  once, 
instead  of  wasting  your  time  over  them." 

Helen  stood  up,  her  resentment  shewing  itself  a 
little. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  prefer,"  she  said. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  ran  a  metal  clip  neatly 
through  the  receipted  bills,  and  swept  the  coins  back 
into  the  money-box.    Then  he  turned  to  her  quickly. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do,  Helen?"  he  asked. 
"  As  your  father,  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  ask  you, 
since  you  have  shewn  no  sign  of  wishing  to  tell  me." 

The  gulf  between  them  seemed  to  her  at  that  mo- 
ment immeasurably  wide,  and  his  tone  was  harsh  and 
cruel, — it  cut  her,  but  cut  like  a  blunt  knife,  with  saw- 
ing and  tearing. 

"  Father,  don't  speak  to  me  like  that,"  she  said.  "  I 
can't  bear  it,  and  it  does  no  good.  I  am  trying,  and 
I  am  going  to  continue  trying,  to  do  my  duty  to 
you " 


THE   CHALLONEES  201 

For  one  moment  the  sternness  vanished  from  his 
face. 

"You  are  going  to  give  him  up?"  he  asked. 

"  No ;  but  I  am  going  to  Hve  quietly  here  if  you 
will  have  me,  for  the  next  six  months,"  she  said, 
"  doing  my  work  in  the  parish  just  as  usual.  During 
that  time  I  will  not  see  Frank.  If  you  wish,  I  will 
not  even  write  to  him,  except  just  once." 

She  sat  down  again  opposite  him. 

"  I  want  to  do  something  for  you,  which  is  hard 
for  me,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  make  you  believe  that 
I  am  trying  to  be  a  good  daughter  to  you.  I  know 
we  disagree  vitally  and  essentially.  But  is  that  any 
reason  why  the  dearness  of  our  human  relations  should 
be  diminished?" 

Her  voice  sank,  but  looking  at  his  face  she  could  see 
that  the  momentary  brightness  as  he  asked  the  last 
question  had  vanished  again,  and  he  sat  looking,  not 
at  her,  but  out  of  the  window,  without  replying. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  gently,  "  I  have  spoken  to  you." 

He  shook  his  head,  then  looked  at  her. 

"  It  is  useless,"  he  said. 

Then  suddenly  the  chilling  reserve  and  silence  of  the 
last  days  gave  way  like  ice  before  the  South  wind. 

"  My  God !"  he  said,  speaking  more  to  himself  than 
to  her.  "  What  have  I  done?  What  have  I  done?  Has 
this  come  for  some  dreadful  fault  of  mine  of  which  I 
am  ignorant?  All  your  life,  Helen,  I  have  tried  to 
train  and  teach  you  in  the  knowledge  and  fear  of  God. 
As  He  sees  me,  I  have  done  my  best,  according  to  my 
lights.  Never  once  to  my  knowledge  have  I  not  prayed 
every  day  that  His  blessing  should  guide  and  illumi- 
nate every  step  you  take.    And  I  cannot  believe — that 


202  THE    CHALLONERS 

is  my  difficulty — that  you  try  to  follow  His  will  in 
this.     It  is  impossible  that " 

He  broke  off  with  a  sudden  helpless  raising  of  his 
hands  indescribably  pathetic. 

"  God  help  us  both,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  his  fingers  clenched 
and  unclenched  themselves  as  he  sat  staring  dismally 
out  of  the  window.  All  her  life,  as  he  had  said  with 
absolute  honesty,  he  had  tried  to  bring  Helen  up  in 
the  knowledge  and  fear  of  God,  and  this  decision  of 
hers,  from  which  he  now  realised  he  was  powerless  to 
move  her,  was  like  some  overwhelming  blow  struck  at 
him  from  the  dark.  He  could  not  understand,  he 
could  not  even  conjecture  in  the  vaguest  way,  what  it 
meant  or  how  he  was  meant  to  take  it.  In  sorrow, 
renunciation,  bereavement,  it  was,  at  any  rate,  possible 
to  acquiesce  in  there  being  a  design.  But  that  his  child 
should  do  this  was  inexplicable.  It  could  not  be  the 
will  of  God.  Something  of  this  Helen  read  in  his 
face,  and  she  saw,  for  the  first  time  fully,  how  the 
blow  had  staggered  him.  His  strength  had  given  way 
under  it ;  all  vehemence  and  anger  was  dead ;  and  dead, 
too,  was  the  hope  that  she  would  come  round  to  him. 
He  was  helpless.  And  the  strangeness  of  that  in  one 
so  certain,  so  accustomed  to  go  without  hinderance  or 
obstacle  along  the  straight  road  of  his  God-fearing 
life  touched  her  with  a  profound  pity,  so  that  for  a 
moment,  had  he  but  known  it,  her  decision  flickered 
and  wavered  like  a  candle-flame  blown  about  in  a 
draught.  She  questioned  herself  whether  such  suffer- 
ing could  be  right,  whether  that  which  caused  it  could 
be  justifiable,  whether  at  whatever  cost  to  herself  or 
another  she  could  permit  it  to  be.     It  was  like  the 


THE   CHALLONERS  203 

suffering  of  some  animal, — blind,  uncomprehending,  a 
thing  intolerable.  And  the  animal  that  suffered  was  a 
strong  man  and  a  wise,  and  her  father. 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table  beside  him. 

"  Oh,  poor  father,  poor  father!"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  wretched  semblance  of  a 
smile. 

"  Ah,  that  is  not  the  point,  Helen,"  he  said.  "  What 
I  feel,  all  my  pain,  is  nothing,  nothing.  Why  I  feel  it 
is  everything,  dear.     Oh,  you  poor  girl,  blind,  blind." 

Then,  at  last,  that  tie  between  father  and  daughter 
or  mother  and  son,  one  of  the  immutable  and  indes- 
structible  things  of  the  world,  stirred,  vibrated,  made 
music,  and  for  a  moment  across  the  infinite  gulf  be- 
tween them  their  spirits  and  their  hands  met. 

"  Dear  girl,"  he  said,  "  it  will  be  delightful  to  have 
you  at  home.  I  was  afraid  that  those  happy  days  of 
work,  you  and  I,  side  by  side  in  this  home,  were  over. 
I  thank  you  for  that,  Helen;  your  father  blesses  you 
for  that.  Stop  with  me  as  long  as  you  can.  How 
long  you — and  he  must  settle.  And,  my  dear,  I  am  so 
selfish  as  to  take  your  offer  fully.  Do  not  see  him 
or  write  to  him.     Perhaps " 

He  paused  a  moment,  stroking  her  hand. 

"  And  try  to  make  allowance  for  me,"  he  went  on, 
"  when  I  am  hard  or  gloomy  or  out  of  spirits.  But  I 
am  so  utterly  at  sea:  my  landmarks  have  gone.  I 
don't  understand.  I  can  only  pray  that  you  and  I  may 
have  light.    God  bless  you,  my  dear,  now  and  always." 

Helen  wrote  the  same  day  to  Frank : 

"  My  Dearest, — I  have  just  come  home,  and  I  have  settled  to 
do  a  thing  which  is  very  hard  on  both  of  us ;  but  I  cannot  do 
otherwise.     Frank,  we  cannot  be  married  yet.     We  must  put  it 


204  THE    CHALLONERS 

off  for  six  months,  or  seven,  is  it  not, — till  next  May.  And  for 
six  months  I  must  live  quietly  at  home  here,  and  not  see  you. 
There,  it  is  written.  This,  too:  you  are  absolutely  free.  Ah,  in 
spite  of  all  these  troubles,  I  can't  help  smiling  when  I  write  that. 

"  But  I  can't  act  otherwise.  My  father  is  in  a  state  of  misery 
about  it  which  I  can't  describe  to  you.  Somebody  he  loves  is  de- 
liberately— this  is  how  he  sees  it — going  to  do  a  wicked  thing. 
This  morning,  when  he  talked  to  me  about  it,  I  wondered  whether 
I  could  be  right  in  continuing  our  engagement  at  all.  But  I  can't 
give  you  up.  My  love  for  you  is  the  best  part  of  me,  and  the 
most  living  part.  You  see  I  am  yours.  Oh,  my  dear,  if  only 
things  had  been  otherwise, — if  you  could  believe !  If  you  could 
only  have  not  told  me,  have  let  me  think  you  were  a  Christian. 
No,  I  don't  wish  that  really.     It  would  not  have  been  you. 

"  He  is  my  father.  All  my  life  he  has  watched  over  me,  prayed 
for  me,  loved  me.  Even  if  he  had  been  a  bad  father,  I  should 
still  have  owed  him  all  I  am,  until  the  day  I  met  you.  And  the 
only  way  in  which  I  can  repay  him  anything  is  by  doing  this. 
It  is  small  change,  I  know,  for  all  his  gold,  but  it  is  all  I  have. 
At  least,  then,  and  at  most  I  must  do  it.  I  must  stop  here  with 
him, — he  was  such  an  old  darling  when  I  told  him,- — trying  to  be 
cheerful,  trying  in  little,  tiny  human  ways  to  be  a  good  daughter 
to  him.  And  it  is  all  so  infinitesimal.  It  is  as  if  I  gave  him 
remedies  for  a  cold  in  the  head  when  he  had  cancer.  I  feel  so 
mean  in  offering  him  so  little.  But  there  is  only  one  other  thing 
that  I  could  offer  him,  and  that  I  cannot.  And,  indeed,  though 
this  looks  so  little  and  makes  little  show,  it  costs  me  something. 
It  does  indeed. 

"  And  I  must  do  something  more.  I  think  I  must  not  even 
write  to  you.  While  I  am  here  I  must  have  no  connection  with 
you.  It  would  be  incomplete  without  that.  One  letter  you  must 
send  me,  when  you  have  thought  this  over,  to  say  that  you  agree 
with  me,  if  you  can. 

"And  if  you  cannot?    I  must  do  it  all  the  same. 

"  Do  you  remember  telling  me  of  Magda's  cry?  That,  too,  tells 
me  to  do  it.    I  should  be  stunted,  selfish,  if  I  did  not. 

"  Ah,  Frank,  my  darling,  be  good  to  me.  I  long  for  you  every 
day,  and  it  is  going  to  be  so  awfully  dreary  without  you. 

"  Helen. 


THE    CHALLONERS  205 

"  I  walked  through  the  wood  to-day  where  you  set  the  hare 
free.  I  shall  walk  there  every  day.  And  I  looked  at  the  geo- 
logical map  with  the  '  auriferous  reef  in  it.     Martin  is  here." 

The  letter  was  not  difficult  to  write,  though  the  final 
determination  to  write  it  was  so  hard  that  when  it 
came  to  the  paper  and  ink  she  sat  long  with  pen  un- 
dipped, unable  to  begin.  But  the  memory  of  the  be- 
wildered misery  in  her  father's  face  that  morning  as 
he  sat  looking  out  of  the  window  in  the  Room  had 
given  her  a  real  sense  of  responsibility  towards  him. 
It  was  her  business  to  find  some  anodyne  for  that. 
Perhaps  the  proof  before  his  eyes,  kept  there  day 
after  day  and  week  after  week,  that  she  wanted  to  do 
her  best,  might  serve.  Anyhow,  at  the  moment  it  had 
awakened  his  humanity  and  his  fatherhood;  his  hand 
had  reached  to  her  across  the  gulf;  two  puzzled,  blind 
folk  had  clasped  hands  in  the  darkness. 

Nor  was  the  waiting  for  Frank's  answer  difficult, — 
she  knew  him  so  well.  And  she  was  not  disappointed 
here ;  the  very  brevity  of  the  reply  was  honey  to  her. 

"  Dearest, — You  must  do  as  you  must  do.  Magda  says  so, 
and  so  do  I.    But  I  am  rather  low,  though  she  tells  me  not  to  be. 

"  Frank." 

But  it  was  then,  when  she  had  made  the  difficult  de- 
termination, and  Frank  had  so  ungrudgingly  con- 
sented, that  Helen's  difficulties  began.  Each  day  was 
an  endless  series  of  infinitesimal  knots,  not  to  be  cut, 
but  each  to  be  patiently,  cheerfully  unravelled.  Each 
singly  she  could  tackle,  but  she  had  to  avert  her  eyes 
from  the  future,  for  the  series  of  knots  stretched  into 
dim  distance.     All  day,  too,  there  was  with  her  the 


206  THE    CHALLONERS 

desire  to  see  Frank,  just  once  to  see  him,  and  perhaps 
cry  a  httle  on  his  shoulder;  all  day,  too,  there  was 
the  face  of  her  father,  always  sunless,  always  grave. 
He  had  never,  it  is  true,  been  other  than  austere  in 
his  domestic  life,  but  then  Helen  had  always  known 
how  deep  was  his  love  for  her.  But  now  it  seemed  to 
her  sometimes  as  if  he  was  trying  to  stifle  and  extin- 
guish it;  that  knowing,  as  he  did,  there  was  soon 
to  be  an  irrevocable  rupture  between  them,  a  rupture 
that  would  divide  them  further  than  death  divides,  he 
was  schooling  himself  to  get  used  to  it,  as  a  man  may 
school  himself,  when  he  sees  one  he  loves  in  the  pangs 
of  mortal  illness,  to  adjust  himself  beforehand  to  the 
loss  that  is  coming.  The  marks  of  his  suffering,  too, 
were  pathetically  plain,  and  again  and  again  she  asked 
herself  whether  she  had  not  only  increased  it  by  doing 
that  which  cost  herself  so  much.  Was  it  only  an  im- 
pulse of  barren  sentimentality  that  she  had  followed? 
Was  she  like  a  surgeon  who  gives  an  ineffective  anaes- 
thetic which  should  not  deaden  or  mitigate  the  wrench 
and  shock  that  was  coming? 

The  encouragement  she  could  find  was  but  small. 
But  it  was  this,  that  in  any  case  she  had  done  what 
was  most  difficult  and  what  seemed,  not  only  to  her, 
but  to  Aunt  Susan,  to  be  right,  and  as  such  was  fully 
accepted  by  her  lover.  Yet  what  if,  after  all,  this  was 
a  mere  senseless  mutilation  of  herself,  an  objectless 
asceticism  ? 

It  was  this  doubt  that  day  after  day  most  troubled 
her.  Had  she  seen  the  least  sign  of  bud  on  the  barren 
stem  she  would  have  been  much  more  than  content. 
But  the  days  became  weeks,  and  there  was  still  none, 
not  even  any  return  of  the  moment's  tenderness  her 


THE    CHALLONERS  207 

father  had  shewn  at  their  first  talk.  She  could  not  see 
that  any  practical  good  was  coming  of  her  renuncia- 
tion. Like  a  wrecked  sailor  on  a  raft,  she  watched,  as 
for  a  sail,  for  any  horizon-distant  sign  that  her  father 
accepted  her  marriage  and  gave  her  credit — though 
she  did  not  want  the  credit  herself,  but  only  longed 
for  the  evidence  of  it — for  doing  her  best.  But  there 
was  no  such  sign.  He  continued  to  use  the  prayer 
for  Turks,  infidels,  and  heretics. 

What  made  things  worse  was  that  Martin,  the  be- 
loved twin,  with  whom  disagreement  was  a  thing  un- 
thinkable, radically  disapproved  of  what  she  was  doing, 
and  his  disapproval,  she  was  afraid,  was  terribly  prac- 
tical,— namely,  that  it  was  quite  certainly  no  use.  Two 
things,  however,  after  some  three  weeks  of  what 
seemed  fruitless  endeavour,  kept  her  to  it.  One  was 
a  letter  from  Aunt  Susan,  to  whom  she  had  sent  a 
despairing  sheet,  containing  a  memorable  sentence : 
"  God  does  not  always  pay  on  Saturday,  Helen,"  she 
had  said.  The  other  was  an  innate  pride  that  forbade 
her  to  accept  defeat.  Here  she  feared  also  to  lose 
the  respect  not  only  of  her  father,  but  of  Frank. 

"  Yes,  my  darling,  you  tried  it,"  she  imagined  him 
saying,  "  and  you  found  it  was  doing  no  good." 

And  that  he  should  say  that  was  somehow  intoler- 
able to  her.  Whatever  she  might  be,  she  would  not 
be  feeble.  "  The  lame  and  the  blind  that  arc  hated 
of  David's  soul"  seemed  to  her  a  very  legitimate  object 
of  detestation.  She  would  not  give  a  thing  up  because 
she  mistrusted  her  power  of  doing  it. 

Thus  her  apparent  failure  consumed  itself.  With 
the  divine  confidence  of  youth,  the  less  successful  she 
seemed  to  be  the  more  she  spurred  herself  on  to  strive. 


208  THE    CHALLONERS 

All  her  sense  of  right  had  told  her,  when  she  made  her 
decision,  that  she  would  thus  be  doing  her  best;  her 
judgment  was  arrived  at  coolly  and  sanely,  and  the 
present  practical  ill-success  of  it  argued  nothing  against 
the  principle. 

Then  came  a  crowning  despondency  and  agitation 
in  something  Martin  told  her  after  he  returned  from 
a  visit  to  Lady  Sunningdale.  The  short  history  of  that 
visit,  however,  claims  an  episodic  precedence. 

Lady  Sunningdale  had  sent  her  motor  over  from 
Fareham  to  fetch  Martin,  and  when  he  arrived,  about 
tea-time,  he  rushed  straight  out  on  to  the  lawn  to  find 
her,  but  only  encountered  the  chilling  looks  of  several 
total  strangers  who  were  talking  about  fiscal  problems 
and  seemed  surprised,  if  not  pained,  to  see  him.  This 
was  discouraging;  and  he  was  wondering  what  place 
there  was  to  flee  unto,  when  a  footman  came  out  after 
him  to  say  that  her  ladyship  v/as  in  her  bedroom  and 
wished  to  see  him  there  immediately.  Martin  could 
not  help  giving  a  little  giggle  of  amusement  at  this, 
and  the  footman,  preceding  him  upstairs,  threw  open 
the  door  and  announced  him. 

The  room  was  large  and  very  rose-coloured,  on  the 
principle  of  Lady  Sunningdale's  famous  maxim  that 
bedrooms  should  be  optimistic.  She  herself  was  re- 
clining on  the  optimistic  silk  coverlet  of  her  bed,  with 
her  shoes  off  and  the  blinds  down. 

"Is  that  you,  monster?"  she  asked.  "I  am  an 
absolute  wreck.  Yes,  pull  up  one  blind  and  sit  down 
at  a  respectful  distance.  Martin,  you  must  promise  to 
play  absolutely  all  the  time  you  are  here,  like  a  barrel 
organ,  or  I  shall  die.     I  shall  send  a  footman  to  you 


THE    CHALLONERS  209 

after  each  time  with  twopence  on  a  tray  and  orders 
that  you  are  not  to  move  on.  The  house  is  crammed 
with  perfectly  dreadful  people.  I  cannot  imagine  why 
I  asked  them.  I  hope  you  have  not  brought  your  gun, 
because  I  shan't  let  you  go  shooting.  You  will  have 
to  talk  to  me  all  day,  except  when  you  are  playing. 
Don't  tread  on  Suez  Canal,  or  you'll  be  drowned. 
Frank  is  here,  and  Stella.  Otherwise — my  dear,  why 
are  politicians  so  impossible?  And  why  is  Helen  be- 
having like  a  mad-woman.  Really,  I  thought  she  had 
more  brains." 

Martin  had  pulled  up  one  blind  during  this  and 
revealed  the  room.  There  were  pink-silk  walls,  on 
which  were  several  pictures  of  Lady  Sunningdale  of 
not  very  recent  date,  a  pink  carpet,  white  furniture, 
and  a  particularly  large  and  pink  bed.  Lady  Sunning- 
dale, fenced,  like  Egypt,  on  the  one  side  by  Suez  Canal 
and  on  the  other  by  Sahara,  was  lying  propped  up  by 
a  quantity  of  huge  pillows  and  cushions.  French  books 
with  yellow  covers  bestrewed  the  bed,  and  fragments 
of  chewed  pages  suggested  that  the  dogs  had  eaten 
one,  like  Jezebel,  leaving  only  a  few  very  indigestible 
pieces.  A  French  maid  hovered  uneasily  about  a 
toilet-table,  and  appeared  to  be  putting  things  in 
drawers.  Considered  as  a  wreck,  finally,  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale looked  particularly  large  and  sea-worthy. 

"  Miss  Plympton  ?"  asked  Martin,  in  an  extremely 
disengaged  voice,  but  with  his  face  suddenly  infected 
by  the  prevailing  optimism. 

Lady  Sunningdale  drew  conclusions  before  most 
people  could  have  arrived  at  data. 

"  Yes ;  ever  since  you  played  to  us  at  Chartries  she 
has  been  trying  to  learn  the  '  Merry  Peasant,' "  she 

14 


210  THE    CHALLONERS 

said.  "She  is  not  getting  on  very  well;  but  art  is 
long,  is  it  not.  So  is  life.  Too  long,  I  think,  some- 
times. But,  my  dear,  the  rest  of  them !  They  talk 
about  fiscal  problems  and  what  they've  shot.  Even 
Frank  appears  to  be  vaguely  interested  in  free  trade 
or  free  food  or  free  drinks  or  something,  which  is 
deplorable  of  him.  I  expect  him  here  immediately. 
My  bedroom  is  the  only  place  where  one  can  be  free 
from  those  intolerable  bores.  There  are  three,  three 
cabinet  ministers  in  the  house!  Really,  politics  ought 
to  be  considered  a  dangerous  habit,  like  morphia.  In 
fact,  there  is  a  very  great  resemblance  between  them. 
They  are  both  drugs  that  send  me  to  sleep,  and  the 
habit  grows  on  one.  You  have  to  take  more  and  more, 
and  the  result  is  death  of  the  intellect,  which  is  quite 
as  lamentable  as  death  of  the  body,  and  renders  you  far 
more  tiresome  to  other  people.  For,  after  all,  when 
one's  body  is  dead  one  is  put  away.  But  people  whose 
intellect  is  dead  are  not  put  away  at  all;  they  pervade 
society.  There  is  no  one  in  the  world  so  lost  as  the 
intellectually  lost.  How  big  hell  must  be!  Talking 
of  that,  how  is  your  father?     What  a  bear!" 

Martin  had  settled  himself  in  a  rose-coloured  chair, 
and  gave  a  great  shout  of  laughter,  suddenly  checked. 
"  Quite  well,"  he  said.  "  He  always  is." 
"  Yes,  that  is  so  like  him,"  said  she.  "  But,  really, 
have  you  any  strain  of  insanity  in  your  very  extraor- 
dinary family?  My  darlings,  did  I  kick  you?  Oh, 
Sahara,  naughty!  All  that  book,  and  I  hadn't  read  it. 
Commander  du  the,  Hortense.  So  convenient,  she 
doesn't  know  a  word  of  English.  Did  you  ever  see 
such  a  murderish-looking  woman?  But  she  can  make 
hats  out  of  a  tooth-brush  and  some  waste-paper.    Some 


THE    CHALLONEES  211 

day  she  will  kill  me  for  my  diamonds,  and  find  out 
afterwards  that  they  are  paste.  Then  she  will  be  sorry, 
and  so  shall  I.  Do  attend,  monster.  Can  you  tell  me 
why  Helen,  head  over  ears  in  love  with  him, — that 
was  why  I  brought  them  together, — should  behave  like 
that?  Shutting  herself  up  with  the  bear  and  that 
dreadful  aunt  of  yours  who  plays  Patience.  And 
Frank  thinks,  in  some  confused  way,  that  it  is  so  beau- 
tiful. He  looks  so  funny  when  Helen's  name  is  men- 
tioned, rather  like  a  widower,  who  hears  a  hymn-tune 
in  four  sharps  on  Sunday  evening.  So  frightfully  old- 
fashioned,  that  sort  of  thing.  Those  two  find  a  sort  of 
spiritual  thrill  in  standing  a  hundred  miles  apart  and 
shouting  '  Caro  mio !  O  Carissima !'  to  each  other  at 
the  tops  of  their  voices.  I  can't  bear  that  sort  of  Pla- 
tonic love.  Yes,  you  Challoners  are  all  mad.  If  Becky 
Sharp  lived  with  Savonarola  in  a  grand  piano,  you 
would  find  a  little  Challoner  crying  on  the  drawing- 
room  carpet  one  morning." 

"Why  Becky  Sharp?"  he  inquired,  parenthetically. 

"  Only  to  add  a  little  joic-de-vivre.  No  imputation 
on  your  morals." 

Lady  Sunningdale  struggled  to  a  sitting  attitude  on 
the  bed.  Several  French  books  flopped  to  the  ground, 
and  were  instantly  worried  by  the  dogs :  Zohdr  and 
A  Rchours  flew  in  gnawed  fragments  about  the  room. 

Martin  agreed  with  Lady  Sunningdale  in  the  view 
she  took  of  Helen's  conduct,  but  he  felt  bound  to  de- 
fend his  sister  against  so  wild  an  attack. 

"  Anyhow,  she's  doing  a  difficult  thing  because  she 
thinks  it  right,"  he  said.  "  Give  her  credit  for  the 
difficulty." 

"Difficult?"  cried  Lady  Sunningdale.     "There  is 


212  THE    CHALLONERS 

no  merit  in  doing  a  difficult  thing  just  because  it's 
difficult.  I  might  just  as  well  try  to  stand  on  my  head 
in  the  drawing-room  and  say  to  my  wondering  guests, 
'  Admire  me,  please.  Though  foolish,  this  is  difficult, 
and  is  only  accomplished  by  prayer  and  fasting.'  Is 
that  profane?  I  think  it  must  be,  because  my  father 
was  a  Nonconformist,  and  whenever  I  say  anything 
without  thinking,  it  is  nearly  sure  to  be  a  reminiscence 
of  my  unhappy  childish  days,  and  comes  out  of  the 
Bible.  But  it  doesn't  prove  that  a  thing  is  the  least 
worth  doing  because  it  is  difficult.  She  is  standing 
on  her  head,  then  ?    And  in  a  parsonage,  too !" 

"  Yes,  it  amounts  to  that,"  said  Martin.  "  But  with 
a  moral  purpose." 

There  was  a  discreet  tap  at  the  door  and  Hortense 
entered  with  tea. 

"  Ah,  muffins,"  said  Lady  Sunningdale,  in  a  molli- 
fied tone.  "  The  under-piece,  please,  Martin.  How 
delicious !  But,  though  I  am  not  cynical,  I  always 
a  little  distrust  moral  purposes.  If  3'ou  do  a  thing 
with  a  moral  purpose,  it  usually  means  that  you  do 
it  because  if  you  didn't  you  would  be  uncomfort- 
able inside.  Good  people  are  such  cowards, — they  are 
afraid  of  a  little  pain  in  their  consciences.  To  avoid 
that  they  go  and  act  in  some  foolish,  antiquated  man- 
ner, and  every  one  says,  '  What  a  saint !'  " 

Then,  out  of  all  this  nebulousness,  like  the  gather- 
ing clouds  of  a  thunder-storm,  there  leaped  a  sudden 
flash,  like  lightning,  and  rather  like  genius. 

"  She  is  doing  sacrifice  to  an  ideal  she  doesn't  fully 
believe  in,"  she  said.  "  Helen  doesn't  believe  in  cer- 
tain things  as  your  father  does.  Else  she  would  never 
marry  Frank  at  all.     She  would  have  screamed  loudly 


THE    CHALLONERg  213 

for  help  when  he  asked  her,  instead  of  saying  '  Yes.' 
Her  sacrifice,  therefore,  isn't  quite  sincere." 

Then  a  sort  of  confusing  roar  of  thunder  followed, 
marring  the  sharp  conclusiveness  of  the  lightning. 

"  I  cannot  bear  seeing  people  making  a  mess  of  their 
lives,"  she  said,  ''  and  it  is  such  a  pleasure  to  see  them 
make  a  really  clean  job  of  them.  Yes.  Why  continue 
poking  round  in  a  parsonage,  when  you  have  made  up 
your  mind  to  go  away  ?  It  is  like  ordering  the  carriage 
to  go  to  the  station,  and  then,  for  no  reason,  saying 
that  you  will  go  by  the  next  train.  She  has  shattered 
the  happy  parsonage  life,  and  is  feebly  trying  to  pick 
up  the  bits,  instead  of  ringing  the  bell  and  leaving  the 
Room.     It  is  silly." 

"  Ah,  Helen  is  not  silly,"  said  her  brother. 

"  I  did  not  say  that.  Yes,  slap  Sahara  twice,  hard. 
But  I  said  she  is  doing  a  silly  thing.  Now,  I  am  silly, 
but  I  hardly  ever  do  a  silly  thing.  Yes,  come  in.  It 
must  be  Frank.  Sunningdale  never  knocks,  and  no- 
body else  ever  comes  in." 

Frank  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  I  was  sent  for,"  he  said,  apologetically.  "  Ah, 
Martin." 

That  rang  true.  "  You  are  her  brother,"  was  be- 
hind it,  and  the  romantic  touch  did  not  escape,  though 
it  rather  irritated.  Lady  Sunningdale.  Personally,  she 
disliked  romance  on  the  general  grounds  that  in  real 
life  it  was  old-fashioned.  To  her  the  two  completely 
satisfactory  methods  of  expression  were  melodrama 
and  farce.  And  Frank's  greeting  to  Martin,  the  hand 
on  the  shoulder,  the  linked  arm,  was  all  romantic,  and 
just  a  little  tiresome. 

"  Frank,  what  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all 


214  THE   CHALLONERS 

day?"  she  cried.  "  I  have  not  set  eyes  on  you.  But, 
of  course,  if  you  do  prefer  golf  and  Chinese  labour  to 

my  inspiring  conversation Yes,  help  yourself  to 

some  tea,  and  all  the  muffin  there  is." 

But  Frank  still  lingered  by  Martin. 

"  How  is  she?"  he  said.  "  Is  all  well?  Any  mes- 
sage for  me  ?  No,  of  course  there  can't  be.  She  meant 
that.     But  she  is  well  ?" 

He  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  rose-coloured 
bed. 

"  Dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  I  have  done  both.  I  went 
out  playing  golf  with  a  colonial  secretary,  I  think, 
and  we  talked  about  fiscal  problems.  Then  I  drove  off 
into  the  bushes  and  lost  the  ball.  So  I  said,  '  Will  the 
price  of  golf  balls  go  up?'  Then  he  drove  into  the 
bushes,  too,  and  he  said,  '  I  expect  so.  So  we  will  not 
look  for  them  for  a  year.  They  will  then  be  more 
valuable  than  they  are  now,  but  will  require  painting.' 
Lucky  golf  balls !  The  longer  most  of  us  live  the  less 
valuable  we  become." 

Lady  Sunningdale  rather  resented  this. 

"  The  older  people  become  the  more  paint  they 
want,"  she  said,  "but  the  other  is  absolutely  untrue. 
Until  people  are  of  a  certain  age  they  are  of  no  value 
at  all.  I  hate  boys  and  girls.  You  only  just  escape, 
Martin ;  and  I  don't  think  you  would  unless  you  could 
play  like  an  elderly  person.  Young  people  want  air- 
ing; they  want  to  be  out  in  the  world  for  a  time  to 
get  ripe.  Tact,  now, — tact  and  good  temper  are  quite 
the  only  gifts  worth  having,  and  tact  is  entirely  an 
acquired  quality.  Until  all  your  edges  are  rubbed 
down,  you  cannot  have  tact.  People  with  edges  are 
always  putting  their  elbows   into  others,   instead  of 


THE    CHALLONERS  215 

rolling  along  comfortably.  You  have  no  tact,  Martin, 
and  Helen,  it  appears,  has  less." 

Frank  held  up  an  appealing  hand. 

"  Ah,  please,  Lady  Sunningdale,''  he  said. 

"  Dear  Frank,  it  is  no  use  saying  '  please,'  "  cried 
she ;  "  Helen  is  behaving  idiotically.  She  ought  to 
have  smoothed  the  Bear  down  somehow ;  deceived  him 
for  the  sake  of  his  comfort.  Martin,  I  think,  would 
deceive  his  friends  to  make  them  comfortable.  Con- 
sidering how  dreadfully  uncomfortable  life  is,  the  first 
duty  towards  our  neighbour  is  to  try  to  make  things 
pleasant.  You,  too,  Frank,  you  have  no  tact.  You 
ought  to  have  said  the  Ten  Commandments,  or  what- 
ever it  is,  very  loud,  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  when  you 
went  to  the  Bear's  church,  and  then  there  wouldn't 
have  been  any  question  at  all.  I  would  be  a  Parsee  or 
a  Plymouth  sister  to-morrow  if  it  would  make  Sun- 
ningdale groan  less.  He  has  taken  to  groaning.  I 
suppose  his  mind  hurts  him,  as  he  says  he's  quite 
well." 

"  Did  you  say  that  I  would  deceive  people  to  make 
them  comfortable?"  asked  Martin. 

"  Yes ;  at  least  I  hope  you  would.  But  you  Chal- 
loners  are  all  slightly  cracked,  I  think.  You  owe  your 
vividness  to  that.  You,  Helen,  your  father,  all  see 
things  out  of  their  real  proportion." 

"Have  you  ever  seen  Aunt  Susan?"  asked 
Martin. 

"  No;  is  she  dreadful?" 

"  Not  at  all,  but  not  vivid.  It  was  she  who  really 
made  Helen  go  home  and  live  there." 

"  Then  your  Aunt  Susan  is  a  very  stupid  person," 
said  Lady  Sunningdale.     "  My  dear,  there  are  only 


216  THE    CHALLONERS 

two  sorts  of  people  in  the  world,  the  clever  and  the 
stupid.  Nobody  is  good,  nobody  is  bad.  At  least,  they 
may  be  for  all  that  it  matters,  but  goodness  and  bad- 
ness in  themselves  have  no  result.  There  is  nothing 
more  colourless  than  moral  qualities;  it  is  only  brains 
that  give  colour  to  them.  Do  you  choose  your  friends 
because  they  are  good?  I  am  sorry  for  you.  Of 
course,  I  don't  want  you  to  choose  them  because  they 
are  bad.  The  one  is  as  idiotic  as  the  other.  But  brains ! 
There  is  nothing  else  in  the  world,  and  very  little  of 
that.  And  moral  qualities  are  like  corsets.  If  they 
are  tight  they  hinder  free  development,  and  if  they  are 
loose,  you  might  as  well  not  wear  them  at  all." 

Lady  Sunningdale  had  taken  her  feet  off  the  bed 
during  this  remarkable  speech  and  looked  more  closely 
at  Martin. 

"  Your  forehead  is  bulging,  Martin,"  she  said,  "  and 
your  hair  is  dipping  like  a  plume  into  your  left  eye. 
That  happens,  I  notice,  when  you  play,  and  it  means 
you  are  thinking.  So  you  are  thinking  now.  What 
is  it?" 

Martin  did  not  deny  the  soft  impeachment. 

"  Yes,  I  was  thinking,''  he  said.  "  I  don't  imagine 
that  what  I  was  thinking  about  would  interest  you  in 
the  least." 

Lady  Sunningdale  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Haven't  you  grasped  the  elementary  fact,"  she 
said,  "  that  anything  anybody  thinks  about  is  deeply 
interesting?  All  the  events  of  the  world — who  said  it 
— take  place  in  the  brain.  Sahara,  darling,  I  am  not 
a  mutton  bone,  nor  are  my  rings  good  to  eat.  Suez, 
how  tiresome !  And  I  hadn't  read  a  page  of  it !  Yes ; 
what  were  you  thinking  about,  Martin?" 


THE    CHALLONERS  217 

Martin  lit  a  cigarette  from  a  smoked-down  stump 
before  he  replied. 

"  I  was  thinking  whether  I  was  going  to  join  the 
Roman  Church,"  he  said. 

Lady  Sunningdale  gave  a  deep,  contented  sigh. 

"  That's  the  sort  of  thing  I  really  like,"  she  re- 
marked. "  Poor  Bear !  Now,  why,  why,  why  do  you 
want  to  do  that  ?  Yes,  turn  Sahara  out,  Frank ;  she  is 
so  restless.  Suez  Canal  always  follows  her.  And  shut 
the  door.  Now  close  your  eyes  and  think,  Martin, 
for  a  minute  if  you  like,  and  then  tell  me  why?" 

Frank  said,  under  his  breath,  "  I  thought  so,"  and 
returned  to  his  chair  almost  on  tiptoe.  Martin  did 
not  close  his  eyes  at  all,  but  looked  at  him. 

"  Frank  knows  why,  I  expect,"  he  said,  "  though  I 
haven't  hinted  it  to  him  till  this  moment.  Why  is  it, 
Frank?" 

"  Well,  in  one  word,  *  Beauty,'  "  said  he. 

Lady  Sunningdale  was  completely  bewildered. 

"Incense?  The  Virgin  Mary?"  she  suggested, 
vaguely. 

Martin  frowned.  For  a  moment  he  looked  exactly 
like  his  father. 

"  Ah,  what  is  the  use  of  my  telling  you,  if  you  say 
that  sort  of  thing  ?"  he  asked. 

"  But  I  really  haven't  an  idea,"  said  she.  "  Did  I 
say  anything  dreadful?" 

"  Frank,  speak.  You  know,"  said  he.  "  I  never 
know  what  I  am  talking  about  when  I  begin  to 
talk." 

"  It  is  only  a  guess." 

"  You  have  guessed  right.  I  believe  you  are  always 
right." 


218  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Well,  get  on  somebody,"  said  Lady  Sunningdale, 
with  a  show  of  impatience. 

"  All  is  Beauty,"  said  Frank,  "  and  knowing  this  is 
Love,  and  Love  is  Duty." 

He  smiled  across  to  Martin. 

"  You  quoted  that,  you  know,  to  Helen,"  he  said, 
"  on  the  day  your  father  found  '  The  Mill  on  the 
Floss.'  " 

"What  did  he  find  the  mill  on?"  asked  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale. "Oh,  I  see.  George  Eliot,  isn't  it?  How 
dull !  I  read  a  book  of  hers  once,  '  Scenes  from  Some- 
thing,' and  thought  it  so  like  your  father's  house,  Mar- 
tin. But  all  is  Beauty,  is  it?  I  should  have  said 
almost  everything  was  ugly.  Anyhow,  what  has  it  all 
got  to  do  with  the  Pope?" 

Lady  Sunningdale's  discursiveness,  the  reader  will 
have  noticed,  was  liable  to  put  in  an  appearance  at 
any  time,  even  when  she  was  really  interested.  She 
herself  explained  this  by  the  fact  that  she  never 
thought  about  less  than  three  things  at  once.  Conse- 
quently, when  she  opened  her  mouth,  any  of  the  three 
was  liable  to  make  its  escape. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  said  Martin,  answering  Frank's 
last  remark.  "  I  am  a  Christian,  and  I  cannot  any 
longer  be  of  a  church  that  leaves  out  beauty  from  its 
worship.  Why,  if  you  love  a  thing,  if  you  believe  in 
a  thing,  you  must  approach  it  through  beauty,  it  seems 
to  me." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  the  words  came  as 
they  had  never  come  before.  A  sudden  clearness  of 
vision  was  his.  He  saw  his  own  thought  with  pre- 
cision, and  he  could  at  that  moment  of  self-revelation 
delineate  it  very  accurately. 


THE    CHALLONERS  219 

"  Why,  when  one's  friends  come  to  see  one,"  he 
said,  "  one  makes  the  room  tidy.  If  you  came  to  see 
me  at  Cambridge,  Lady  Sunningdale,  I  should  take 
down  my  pipe-rack  and  put  it  in  my  bedroom,  I  should 
sweep  my  hearth,  I  should  give  you  a  clean  tablecloth 
for  lunch,  I  should  get  flowers  for  the  table,  I  should 
practise  something  which  I  thought  you  would  like  to 
hear  me  play.  I  should,  in  my  small  way,  put  all  the 
beauty  at  my  disposal  at  yours,  and  put  the  ugliness 
away.  But — but  take  Chartries  church.  How 
beastly !" 

Martin  paused  a  moment.  Frank  was  observing  him 
quietly  from  underneath  his  hand,  for  the  afternoon 
sun  was  pouring  its  light  from  the  window  where  Mar- 
tin had  pulled  up  the  blind  full  into  his  eyes.  The 
boy  seemed  to  him  at  this  moment  suddenly  to  have 
grown  up,  become  vivider,  to  have  thought  for  himself. 
Crude,  elementary,  unconvincing  it  all  might  be,  but 
it  was  original.  And  Martin's  next  words  endorsed 
his  opinion.     Certainly  he  was  not  a  child  any  longer. 

"  How  dare  they?  How  dare  they?"  he  cried.  "  A 
wheezy  organ ;  awful  wood- work ;  terrible  windows. 
Is  there  anything  more  hideous  in  all  England  than 
Chartries  church, — unless  it  be  a  county  jail  for  the 
confinement  of  prisoners?  Because  it  is  for  God,  will 
anything  do?" 

There  certainly  was  crudity  here.  Frank  felt  that, 
though  Lady  Sunningdale  did  not,  for  her  indifference 
on  religious  matters  was  perhaps  the  profoundest  thing 
about  her.  He  had  enquired  and  rejected,  she  had 
never  even  looked  in  that  direction.  Martin  had  en- 
quired, too,  and  found  an  awful  Presence.  And  he 
was  ashamed  to  call  in  old  clothes,  so  to  speak.    What 


220  THE    CHALLONERS 

was  at  the  service  of  God  was  his  best.  All  that  was 
not  best  was  an  insult.    And  his  face  flushed  suddenly. 

"  Why,  if  that  church  was  my  room,  and  you  came 
to  see  me,  I  would  cover  up  the  stained  glass,"  he  said. 
"  I  would  make  it  decent.     I  would,  I  would " 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  found'  the  word. 

"  I  would  have  '  form,'  "  he  said.  "  I  would  give 
you  politeness.  I  would  not  say,  '  She  knows  me ;  she 
will  understand,'  and  sit  with  you  in  a  back  bedroom, 
slops  about,  tooth-brushes,  anything.  But  because  God 
understands,  are  we  to  say  '  Anything  will  do  ?'  Why, 
when  the  Queen  came  to  Chartries  we  had  four  courses 
for  lunch  and  a  red  carpet." 

He  broke  off  suddenly. 

"Do  you  understand  what  I  mean?"  he  demanded 
of  Frank. 

Frank  understood  perfectly,  for  he  had  known  a 
long  time  what  Martin  had  only  just  learned, — that 
"  form"  governed  his  life.  For  he  did  and  always  had 
done  everything  he  believed  in  as  well  as  he  could  do  it, 
lavishing  thereon  all  the  pains  and  trouble  at  his  com- 
mand, with  the  instinctive,  open-handed  generosity  of 
love.  These  pains  he  did  not  bestow  grudgingly,  nor 
count  the  expenditure ;  whatever  was  worth  doing  was 
more  than  worth  all  the  pains  he  could  possibly  bestow 
on  it.  That  impulse  lies  at  the  root  of  every  artistic 
temperament,  endless  trouble  for  ever  so  minute  a  per- 
fection, ever  so  infinitesimal  a  finish.  But  Frank,  like 
an  equitable  judge,  had  to  state  the  other  side  of  the 
case  to  Martin. 

"  What  will  your  father  say  to  it  ?"  he  asked,  using 
the  most  commonplace  phrase. 

Martin  looked  at  him  quickly. 


THE    CHALLONERS  221 

"  Same  as  he  said  about  you  and  Helen,"  he  re- 
marked. 

Lady  Sunningdale  could  not  help  a  little  spurt  of 
laughter,  the  repartee  was  so  exquisitely  simple.  But 
she  checked  it  at  once. 

"  But  it's  too  awful  for  him,"  she  said.  "  First 
Helen  and  then  you.  Martin,  do  you  think  you 
ought " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  must,"  said  Martin. 

"  But  it  doesn't  hurt  you  to  play  a  creaky  organ. 
And  the  stained-glass  windows  don't  hurt  you." 

Frank  had  seen  further  than  this. 

"  How  necessary  do  you  feel  it?"  he  asked.  "  That 
is  the  whole  point.    Is  it  as  necessary  as — as  Chopin?" 

The  door  opened  and  Hortense  entered. 

"Sept  heures  et  demi,  madame,"  she  said. 

Lady  Sunningdale  started  to  her  feet. 

"  Monsters,  you  must  go  at  once,"  she  cried.  "  Yes, 
dear  Martin,  it  is  too  interesting !  You  will  play  to  us 
this  evening,  won't  you  ?  So  glad  you  could  come ;  and 
did  you  ever  see  such  a  mess  as  the  dogs  have  made? 
But  those  things  don't  hurt  you  any  more  than  brush- 
ing one's  teeth  hurts,  though  it  cannot  help  being  a 
terribly  inartistic  performance.  And  you  ought  to 
consider  Helen,  as  well.  Not  that  it  matters  what 
church  one  belongs  to,  as  far  as  I  can  see.  Sunning- 
dale might  become  a  Parsee  to-morrow  if  it  would 
make  him  any  happier,  only  there  really  is  no  sun  in 
England ;  so  I  don't  see  what  he  would  worship.  How 
nice  always  to  sit  in  the  sun  and  say  one  was  worship- 
ping! Yes.  You  extraordinary  boy,  fancy  your  l)eing 
religious  in  your  little  inside.  I  should  never  have 
guessed  it.     But  you  got  quite  pink  when  you  talked 


222  THE    CHALLONERS 

about  Chartries  church.  Most  rehgious  people  are  so 
dull.  Is  that  a  dreadful  thing  to  say,  too  ?  Dinner  at 
eight.    Take  him  and  shew  him  his  room,  Frank." 

Lady  Sunningdale  certainly  had  the  knack  of  bring- 
ing quite  unique  combinations  of  people  together  and 
of  making  them  behave  quite  characteristically  of  their 
respective  selves.  She  herself — this  may  partly  ac- 
count for  it — behaved  with  such  child-like  naturalness 
that  it  was  quite  impossible  for  those  with  her  to  be 
self-conscious.  As  a  hostess  she  was  quite  incom- 
parable, for  rejecting  all  known  conventions  which  are 
supposed  to  be  binding  on  that  very  responsible  class, 
instead  of  behaving  to  each  of  her  guests  as  if  he  was 
a  mere  unit  in  the  colourless  mass  known  as  society, 
she  talked  direct  and  unmitigated  "  shop"  appropriate 
to  each.  To-night  there  was  present  among  her  guests 
a  traveller  in  Central  Thibet,  to  whom  she  talked  can- 
nibal-shop, so  much  encouraging  him  that  his  account 
of  his  adventures  became  scarcely  narratable ;  an 
astronomer  who  knew  Mars  better,  it  appeared,  than 
the  majority  of  dwellers  on  this  terrestrial  globe  know 
the  county  in  which  they  live;  several  cabinet  minis- 
ters who  received  relays  of  telegrams  during  dinner 
(always  a  charming  incident),  their  wives,  whose  main 
preoccupations  were  appendicitis,  golf,  and  babies;  a 
duchess  of  American  extraction,  who  shied  violently 
when  the  words  "  pig"  or  "  Chicago"  were  mentioned ; 
and  a  German  princess  who,  when  directly  questioned, 
seemed  doubtful  as  to  where  her  husband's  principality 
lay,  and  was  corrected  on  the  subject  by  the  astrono- 
mer. But  owing  perhaps  to  the  advent  of  the  Twin 
(the  name  by  which  Lady  Sunningdale  referred  to 


THE    CHALLONERS  223 

Martin),  though  she  had  previously  confessed  that  she 
found  her  guests  "  dreadful,"  to-night  she  went 
bravely  ahead,  steering  a  triumphant  course  over  shoals 
where  she  grounded  heavily  and  dashing  on  to  rocks 
that  should  have  made  a  wTeck  of  her.  The  dinner- 
table  w-as  round;  she  herself  set  an  excellent  example 
by  screaming  over  smilax  and  chrysanthemums  to  the 
person  most  distantly  removed,  and  Babel,  that  god  so 
ardently  worshipped  by  hostesses,  shed  his  full  efful- 
gence over  the  diners.  Thibet  and  the  Chaldseans 
easily  led  on  to  astronomy ;  astronomy  to  the  observa- 
tory at  Chicago,  which  occasioned  a  sudden  and  thrill- 
ing silence;  and  from  the  United  States  it  was  but  a 
step  to  fiscal  problems  in  which  all  but  the  cabinet 
ministers  laid  down  incontrovertible  opinions.  Then 
golf  let  them  into  the  circle  again ;  and  the  story  of  a 
golfer  being  carried  off  the  first  tee  after  a  futile  drive, 
and  expiring  an  hour  later  from  an  operation  for  ap- 
pendicitis, while  his  wife  was  being  confined,  was 
charmingly  to  the  point.  In  fact,  the  desultory  rapidity 
of  conversation  left  nothing  to  be  desired,  and  all  was 
due  to  Lady  Sunningdale's  inimitable  plan  of  talking 
shop  to  the  shop-keepers. 

Later,  Martin  played,  there  was  Bridge,  and  Lord 
Sunningdale,  as  usual,  went  to  sleep,  and,  on  awaking, 
revoked,  subsequently  explaining  the  revoke  to  the 
satisfaction  of  everybody  but  his  partner,  who  re- 
mained dissatisfied  to  the  last.  Women  took  bed- 
candles,  men  gravitated  to  the  smoking-room,  though, 
since  every  one  had  previously  smoked  in  the  drawing- 
room,  this  seemed  unnecessary.  But,  the  fact  is  one 
without  exception,  men  left  alone  leave  drawing- 
rooms. 


224  THE    CHALLONERS 

Soon,  again,  after  the  long  clay's  shoot,  the  smoking- 
room  yawned  itself  to  bed,  and  cabinet  ministers,  the 
traveller,  and  the  astronomer  being  gone,  Frank  was 
left  alone  with  Martin.  There  was  no  design  in  the 
matter, — both  hated  going  to  bed  as  much  as  both 
detested  getting  up,  but  they  were  neither  of  them 
sorry  to  have  the  opportunity  of  more  talk.  Frank 
had  got  up  from  his  chair  on  the  last  exit,  took  a 
whiskey-and-soda,  and  moved  to  the  fireplace. 

"  Lady  Sunningdale  is  extraordinarily  clever,"  he 
remarked,  "  but  I  can  no  more  discuss  anything  with 
her  than  I  could  with  a  dragon-fly.  She  is  always 
darting." 

Martin  laughed. 

"  Go  on,  then,"  he  said. 

Frank  sat  down. 

''  Are  you  determined,  Martin  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  think  so.     I  don't  see  what  else  I  can  do." 

"  I  asked  you  a  question  before  dinner,  which  you 
didn't  have  time  to  answer.  Is  it  as  much  to  you  as 
Chopin?" 

"Why  do  you  repeat  that?"  asked  Martin.  "It 
does  not  seem  to  me  apt.  How  can  I  make  such  a 
comparison?" 

"  Easily,  I  should  have  thought." 

Ag-ain  Martin's  likeness  to  his  father  started  to  his 
face. 

"  You  say,  '  easily,'  "  he  said.  "  Take  this,  then. 
What  would  you  do  if  in  order  to  get  Helen  you  had 
to  tell  a  real,  mortal,  mean  lie,  the  sort  of  lie  that  would 
make  you  blush  in  the  dark?" 

"It's  like  that,  is  it?" 

"Yes;    just  like  that.     I  must.     I  can't  tell  you 


THE    CHALLONERS  225 

why.  I  don't  know  whether  I  know,  except  as  regards 
what  I  said  in  Lady  Sunningdale's  room,  that,  if  in 
anything,  in  worship  above  all  is  beauty  necessary. 
That  is  true,  but  it  is  only  a  sort  of  symbol  of  what  I 
feel.  Other  people  feel  differently;  they  are  less  ma- 
terialistic than  I,  and  ugliness  doesn't  get  in  their  way. 
But  if  you  happen  to  be  gifted  or  cursed  with  the 
artistic  temperament — Lord,  how  priggish  that  sounds ! 
— I  don't  see  how  you  can  help  demanding  beauty  in 
the  service  of  what  is  sublime." 

"  I  never  knew  you  thought  about  these  things," 
said  Frank,  rather  lamely. 

Martin  snapped  his  fingers  impatiently. 

"  More  fool  you,  old  chap,"  said  he.  "  All  the  same, 
I  don't  see  why  you  should  have.  So  Lll  apologise. 
Probably  you  thought  that  because  one  has  high  spirits, 
a  really  fine  capacity  for  playing  the  fool,  and  also  a 
certain  leaning  towards  the  piano,  that  I  never  took 
anything  seriously.  Nor  did  I  till  lately.  In  any  case, 
this  is  really  so  much  more  my  concern  than  anybody's. 
I've  got  to  lead  my  own  life,  not  to  be  dragged  about 
like  a  sheep.    And  I  must." 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"  I  have  only  given  you  an  external  instance  of  what 
seems  to  me  an  underlying  principle,"  he  said.  "  The 
difference  in  '  form'  between  the  two  churches  is  an 
illustration  of  the  desire  of  the  Roman  Church  to  enlist 
beauty  in  the  service  of  God.  That  desire  is  the  spirit 
of  Romanism.  Now,  English  people,  take  them  all 
round,  are  extremely  deficient  in  the  seiose  of  beauty, 
and  utterly  Ijlind  to  its  importance.  And  in  church  I 
think  it  really  seems  to  them  slightly  inappropriate. 
The   Roman   Church  is  mystical,   romantic,   poetical. 

15 


226  THE    CHALLONERS 

The  English  is  Puritan  and  ugly  and  literal.  And,  do 
you  know,  as  soon  as  I  began  to  think,  I  found  I  could 
not  stand  Puritanism.  Heavens,  how  I  have  jawed!" 
Martin  got  up  briskly  from  his  chair,  with  the  un- 
mistakable air  of  closing  that  particular  topic.  In 
his  youthful,  boyish  manner  there  lurked  a  great  deal 
of  masterfulness,  which  those  who  came  in  contact 
with  it  might  be  disposed  to  call  obstinacy.  Though 
he  never  adopted  any  attitude  so  ungraceful  as  that  of 
a  donkey  with  its  legs  planted  outwards  towards  the 
four  quarters  of  the  compass,  the  effect  on  such  as 
pulled  was  about  the  same.  If  he  chose,  he  would 
smilingly  refuse  to  go  in  any  direction  whatever,  cer- 
tainly until  all  efforts  to  move  him  were  relaxed.  But 
as  he  knew  himself,  and  as  Frank  suspected,  there  was 
just  one  person  in  the  world  with  whom,  hitherto,  he 
had  never  adopted  this  attitude,  and  that  was  his 
father.  Never  yet  in  his  life  had  he  set  his  will  calmly 
in  opposition  to  Mr.  Challoner's.  As  he  had  once  told 
his  father,  he  was  frightened  at  him,  he  feared  his 
anger,  but  there  was  certainly  no  one  else  in  the  world 
whom  he  would  radically  disagree  with,  and  yet  obey. 
And  some  cold  intimate  knowledge  of  this  had  sud- 
denly struck  him  when  at  this  moment  he  stopped  the 
conversation.  All  that  he  had  said  he  had  honestly 
felt,  but  vivid  as  was  his  imagination,  when  he  flashed 
a  light  into  his  father's  study  at  home,  he  could  not 
picture  himself  there  saying  this  to  him.  His  own 
figure  wavered,  as  if  blown  by  a  draught. 

There  are  certain  plants  which  apparently  lie  dor- 
mant, as  far  as  outward  observation  can  go,  for  months, 
and  even  years,  together,  and  then  suddenly  grow  with 


THE    CHALLONERS  227 

an  incredible  swiftness,  putting  forth  leaf,  bud,  and 
blossom  with  a  rapidity  that  is  almost  uncanny.  Some 
invisible  storage  of  force  must  certainly  have  been 
taking  place  during  the  prolonged  dormancy,  the  root- 
fibre  has  prospered  and  been  accumulating  vitality  out 
of  the  ken  of  human  eye,  transforming  the  fertile  ele- 
ments into  itself,  and  the  visible  result  is  the  constella- 
tion of  sudden  blossom.  And  a  similar  phenomenon  is 
observable  in  that  most  obscure  of  all  growths,  that  of 
the  human  character.  There  are  no  clear  causes  to  be 
registered  of  this  sudden  activity,  only  the  essence  of 
the  conditions  favourable  to  growth  must  have  been 
stored  within  it,  till  its  reservoir  has  been  filled  to 
overflowing  and  discharges  all  at  once  its  potential 
energy.  It  struck  Frank  this  evening  that  some  such 
inexplicable  sprouting  had  just  begun  in  Martin.  He 
had  quite  suddenly  taken  a  distinct  and  defined  line 
of  his  own,  and  was  under  the  spell  of  an  irresistible, 
original  impulse.  He  had  never  been,  it  is  true,  devoid 
of  vividness  or  vitality,  but  he  had  never  yet  taken  a 
step.  He  had  been  held  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck  with 
his  nose  to  the  grindstone  of  classical  education  with- 
out attempting  to  raise  it,  and  his  recent  emancipation 
had  been  entirely  contrived  by  others,  while  he  himself 
had  stirred  not  a  finger  in  it,  leaving  Frank,  his  uncle, 
and  Lady  Sunningdale  to  fight  his  battle  for  him, 
merely  sitting  in  his  tent  and,  it  is  true,  receiving  the 
news  of  victory  with  engaging  delight.  But  now  his 
character  showed  growth :  he  had  thought  for  him- 
self, come  to  a  conclusion  consistent  with  himself,  and 
was  apparently  prepared  to  act  on  it. 

And  now  that  the  growth  had  begun,  it  was  not  so 
hard  to  see  the  causes  which  made  it  inevitable.     For 


228  THE    CHALLONERS 

he  was  an  artist  through  and  through ;  in  all  his  tastes, 
in  all  his  achievements  the  note  of  "  form"  sounded 
trumpet-like.  And  if,  which  Frank  had  not  known, 
the  desire  and  the  need  of  God  was  in  the  woof  of  his 
nature,  that,  too,  must  be  expressed  with  the  aesthetic 
beauty  in  which,  necessarily  to  him,  emotion  had  to  be 
clothed.  He  could  be  and  was  slovenly  in  execution 
where  his  artistic  sympathies  were  not  aroused,  as  his 
more  than  mediocre  performances  in  classical  lan- 
guages could  testify ;  but  where  his  feelings  were  con- 
cerned, any  expression  of  them  had  to  be  made  with 
all  the  excellence  obtainable.  He  was  not  able  himself 
to  do  badly  what  appealed  to  him,  neither  could  he 
watch  or  take  part  in  a  thing  that  was  badly  done. 
And  the  growth  that  he  had  made  consisted  in  the  fact 
that  he  recognised  this. 


CHAPTER    X 

Karl  Rusoff  got  up  rather  wearily  from  the  piano, 
where  he  had  been  practising  for  the  last  three  hours, 
stretched  himself,  and  for  a  few  seconds  held  his 
fingers  against  his  eyes,  as  if  to  rest  them.  The  after- 
noon was  a  little  chilly,  and  he  walked  over  to  the  fire- 
place, where  he  stood  warming  his  hands.  The  cheer- 
ful, flickering  blaze  shining  through  his  thin,  long 
hands  made  the  fingers  look  transparent,  as  if  they 
were  luminous  and  lit  with  a  red  light  from  within. 

From  the  windows  the  dun-coloured  gloom  of  a 
cloudy  spring  afternoon  in  London  left  the  room 
vague  and  full  of  shadows  that  huddled  into  the  cor- 
ners, while  the  light  of  gas-lamps,  already  lit  in  the 
street  outside,  cast  patches  of  yellow  illumination  high 
on  the  walls  and  on  the  mouldings  of  the  ceiling.  The 
room  itself  was  large,  lofty,  and  well-proportioned,  and 
furnished  with  a  certain  costly  simplicity.  A  few  Per- 
sian rugs  lay  on  the  parquetted  floor,  a  French  writing- 
table  stood  in  the  window,  a  tall  bookcase  glimmering 
with  the  gilt  and  morocco  of  fine  bindings  occupied 
nearly  half  of  the  wall  in  which  the  fireplace  was  set, 
two  or  three  large  chairs  formed  a  group  with  a  sofa 
in  the  corner,  and  the  Steinway  grand  occupied  more 
than  the  area  taken  up  by  all  the  rest  of  the  furniture. 
There,  perhaps,  simplicity  gained  its  highest  triumph, — 
the  case  was  of  rosewood  designed  by  Harris,  and  the 
formal  perfection  of  its  lines  was  a  thing  only  to  be 
perceived  by  an  artist.    On  the  walls,  finally,  hung  two 

229 


230  THE   CHALLONEES 

or  three  prints,  and  on  the  mantelpiece  were  a  couple  of 
reproductions  of  Greek  bronzes  found  at  Herculaneum. 

It  was  a  room,  in  fact,  that  spoke  .very  distinctly  of 
an  individual  and  flawless  taste.  Wherever  the  eye 
fell  it  lighted  on  something  which,  in  its  kind,  was  per- 
fect; on  the  other  hand,  there  was  nothing  the  least 
startling  or  arresting,  and,  above  all,  nothing  fidgetty. 
It  was  a  room  pre-eminently  restful,  where  a  tired 
mind  might  fall  into  reverie  or  an  active  mind  pursue 
its  activities  without  challenge  or  annoyance  from  visi- 
ble objects.  Pre-eminently  also  it  was  a  room  instinct 
with  form ;   nothing  there  should  have  been  otherwise. 

Karl  stood  in  front  of  the  fireplace  for  some  min- 
utes, opening  and  shutting  his  hands,  which  were  a 
little  cramped,  a  little  tired  with  the  long  practise  they 
had  just  finished.  His  mind,  too,  was  a  little  tired 
with  the  monotony  of  his  work,  for  his  three  hours  at 
the  piano  had  been  no  glorious  excursion  into  the  sun- 
lit lands  of  melody,  but  the  repetition  of  about  twelve 
bars,  all  told,  from  a  couple  of  passages  out  of  the 
Waldstein  Sonata  which  he  was  to  play  next  week  at 
the  last  of  his  four  concerts  in  St.  James's  Hall.  And 
though  perhaps  not  half  a  dozen  people  in  that 
crowded  hall  would  be  able  to  tell  the  difference  be- 
tween the  execution  of  those  dozen  bars  as  he  played 
them  yesterday  and  as  he  could  play  them  now,  he 
would  not  have  been  the  pianist  he  was  if  it  had  been 
possible  for  him  not  to  attempt  to  make  them  perfect, 
whether  that  took  a  week  or  a  month.  The  need  of 
perfection  which  never  says  "  That  will  do"  until  the 
achievement  cannot  be  bettered  was  a  ruling  instinct 
to  him. 

Besides,  to  him  just  now  the  presence  of  one  out  of 


THE    CHALLONERS  231 

those  possible  six  auditors  who  might  be  able  to  tell 
the  difference  was  more  to  him  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
ringing  hall.  Sometimes  he  almost  wished  he  had 
never  seen  Martin, — never,  at  any  rate,  consented  to 
give  him  lessons, — for  in  some  strange  way  this  pupil 
was  becoming  his  master,  and  Rusoff  was  conscious  that 
the  lad's  personality,  never  so  vivid  as  when  he  was 
at  his  music,  was  beginning  to  cast  a  sort  of  spell 
over  his  owm.  Brilliant,  incisive,  full  of  fire  as  his 
own  style  was,  he  was  conscious  when  Martin  played 
certain  things  that  his  own  rendering,  far  more  cor- 
rect, far  more  finished  thought  it  might  be,  was  elderly, 
even  frigid,  compared  to  the  other.  The  glorious 
quality  of  his  exuberant  youth,  a  thing  which  in  most 
artists  is  beginning  to  pale  a  little  before  they  have 
attained  to  that  level  of  technical  skill  which  is  neces- 
sary to  a  pianist  of  any  claim  to  high  excellence,  was 
in  Martin  at  its  height  and  its  noonday,  while  it  really 
seemed  sometimes  to  his  master  that  he  had  been, 
perhaps  in  his  cradle,  perhaps  as  he  bent  his  unwilling 
head  over  the  crabbed  intricacies  of  Demosthenes, 
somehow  mysteriously  initiated  into  the  secrets  of 
technique.  Anyhow,  that  facility,  that  art  of  first  mas- 
tering and  then  concealing  difficulties  which  to  most 
pianist  only  comes,  as  it  had  come  to  himself,  through 
months  and  years  of  unremitting  toil,  seemed  to  be 
natural  to  his  pupil.  Martin  had  only  got  to  be  told 
what  to  do,  and  if  he  was  in  an  obliging  humour  he 
did  it.  The  difficulties  of  execution  simply  did  not 
seem  to  exist  for  him.  Immensely  struck  as  Karl 
Rusoff  had  been  with  his  performance  last  summer  at 
Tord  Yorkshire's,  he  felt  now  that  he  had  not  then 
half  fathomed  the  depth  of  his  power,  which  lay  pel- 


232  THE    CHALLONERS 

lucid  like  a  great  ocean  cave  full  of  changing  lights 
and  shadows,  suffused  to  its  depths  with  sunlight,  and 
by  its  very  clearness  and  brightness  baffling  the  eye 
that  sought  to  estimate  its  depths. 

And  his  temperament — that  one  thing  that  can 
never  be  taught.  Karl  Rusoff  knew  he  had  never  come 
across  a  temperament  that,  artistically  speaking,  ap- 
proached it.  It  was,  indeed,  not  less  than  perfect  from 
that  point  of  view,  sensitive,  impressionable,  divinely 
susceptible  to  beauty,  hating  (here  largely  was  the  per- 
sonal charm  of  it  to  his  master),  hating  the  second- 
rate,  especially  the  skilful  second-rate,  with  glorious 
intensity.  At  the  thought  Karl's  rather  grim  face  re- 
laxed into  a  smile  as  he  remembered  how  Martin  had 
sat  down  to  the  piano  the  other  day  in  a  sudden  burst 
of  Handel-hatred  and  with  his  ten  fingers,  which 
sounded  like  twenty,  and  a  strangely  unmelodious  voice, 
which  sounded  like  a  crow  and  ranged  from  high 
falsetto  treble  to  the  note  of  kettledrums,  had  given  a 
rendering  of  the  "  Hail-Stone  Chorus,"  so  ludicrous, 
yet  catching  so  unerringly  the  cheap  tumult  of  that  toy- 
storm  in  a  teacup,  that  he  himself  had  sat  and  laughed 
till  his  eyes  were  dim. 

"  And  why,"  asked  Martin,  dramatically,  in  conclu- 
sion, "  did  that  German  spend  his  long  and  abandoned 
life  in  England?  Because  he  knew,  sir,  he  knew  that 
in  any  other  country  he  would  have  been  kindly  but 
firmly  put  over  the  border.  Now  shall  I  sing  you  the 
'Hallelujah  Chorus'?" 

Besides  this  facility  in  technique,  the  power  of  per- 
ception of  beauty,  which  in  many  of  the  finest  minds 
requires  years  of  delicate  cultivation  before  it  becomes 
at  all  mature  or  certain,  was  already  present  in  Martin 


THE    CHAIJ.ONERS  233 

in  apparent  fulness  of  growth;  it  was  already  an  in- 
stinct exerting  and  asserting  itself,  not  through  habit, 
but  through  intuition.  It  was  so  much  the  dominating 
ingredient  in  the  composition  known  as  Martin  Chal- 
loner  that  almost  everything  else  might  be  considered 
as  a  mere  by-product.  His  whole  will,  his  whole 
energy,  was  at  its  service.  When  once  it  called  to  him, 
as  it  had  called  to  him  in  his  adoption  of  the  Roman 
faith,  it  seemed  he  had  to  obey  and  could  not  question. 
It  was  to  him  a  law  that  he  could  not  transgress. 

But  all  this,  the  charm  of  which  Karl  Rusoff  felt 
almost  too  keenly  for  his  peace  of  mind,  he  knew  to 
be  extremely  dangerous,  and  to  him  this  exultant, 
beautiful  mind  was  entrusted  with  all  the  responsibility 
that  it  entailed,  to  fashion,  to  train,  to  prune.  With  a 
true  and  honest  modesty  he  recognised  how  menial, 
so  to  speak,  his  work  in  regard  to  Martin  was ;  but  this 
did  not  lessen  the  responsibility.  He  was,  to  rate  him- 
self at  the  highest,  the  gardener  who  had  to  bring  this 
exquisite  plant  into  fulness  of  flower,  to  feed,  to  water, 
to  cut,  and,  above  all,  to  let  air  and  sun,  the  great 
natural  influences,  have  their  way  with  it.  He  did  not 
believe  in  forced  growth  or  in  sheltered  cultivation; 
as  he  had  told  Martin  in  the  summer,  every  emotion, 
every  pain  and  joy,  so  long  as  it  was  not  sensual,  was 
his  proper  food.  The  richer  his  experience  was,  the 
richer  would  his  music  be.  Karl  had  already  seen  a 
first  clear  endorsement  of  his  view  in  the  circum- 
stances attending  Martin's  secession  to  the  Roman 
Church.  He  himself  did  not  know  with  any  exactitude 
of  detail  what  liad  joasscd  between  him  and  his  father, 
but  though  the  painfulness  of  that  had  knocked  Mar- 
tin completely   up   for  a  time,   what  he  himself  had 


234  THE    CHALLONERS 

foreseen  had  come  true,  and  he  could  hardly  help  in- 
wardly rejoicing  at  even  the  cruelty  of  Mr.  Challoner's 
attitude  to  his  son,  so  great  had  been  the  gain  to 
Martin  artistically.  He  had  suffered  horribly,  and  was 
the  better  for  it.  Afterwards — the  thing  had  taken 
place  now  more  than  two  months  ago — the  elastic  fibre 
of  his  youth  had  reasserted  itself,  and  his  exuberant 
health  of  body  and  mind  had  returned  to  their  former 
vigour.     The  pain  had  passed,  the  gain  remained. 

Then  to  Karl's  reverie  there  came  the  interruption 
he  had  been  expecting.  A  quick  step  sounded  outside, 
then  a  noise  as  of  a  large  quantity  of  books  being 
dropped  in  the  passage,  a  loud  and  hollow  groan,  and, 
after  a  short  pause,  Martin,  with  half  a  dozen  volumes 
of  music,  entered,  flushed,  vivid  in  face,  muddy  in 
boots. 

"I  am  late,"  he  said,  "  also  I  am  sorry.  But  there 
was  not  a  cab  to  be  found.  So  I  ran.  I  ran  quicker 
than  cabs.     Oh,  how  hot  I  am!" 

Karl's  face  lighted  up  as  he  saw  him.  He  himself 
was  unmarried  and  rather  lonely  in  the  world  till  this 
child  of  his  old  age  had  come  to  him,  who  should  be, 
so  he  told  himself,  the  crown  of  his  life's  work,  and 
illuminate  the  dull  world,  long  after  he  himself  was 
dead,  with  the  melodious  torch  that  he  had  helped  to 
light. 

"  Are  you  late?"  he  said.  "  I  have  only  just  finished 
practising  myself.  My  dear  child,  how  hot  you  are. 
Let  us  have  tea  first.  And  are  you  dining  out  to- 
night? If  not,  have  a  chop  with  me  here,  and  we  can 
work  a  little  afterwards  as  well.  You  have  not  been  to 
me  for  a  week." 


THE   CHALLONERS  235 

"  Yes,  thanks,  I  should  like  that,"  said  Martin.  "  I 
have  been  down  at  Chartries,  as  you  know,  for  a 
couple  of  days." 

He  paused  a  moment,  frowning  at  the  fire. 

"No;  it  was  no  good,"  he  said.  "My  father 
would  not  see  me.  He  even  opposed  Helen's  coming 
to  Uncle  Rupert's  while  I  was  there.     But  she  came." 

"  How  is  she  ?"  asked  Karl. 

"  Very  well,  and,  what  is  so  odd,  extraordinarily 
happy, — happy  in  some  steadily-shining  way.  Deep, 
broad,  bright  happiness,  like  sunlight.  Now,  how  do 
you  account  for  that  ?  Away  from  Frank, — she  doesn't 
even  write  to  him  or  hear  from  him, — continuing  to  do 
all  that  she  found  so  intolerable  under  hugely  aggra- 
vated conditions, — he  not  there, — and  yet  awfully 
happy.  Not  that  father  has  changed  to  her  at  all, — 
he  is  very  silent,  very  sad,  very — well,  sometimes  very 
cross.  And  she  feels  his  sadness,  too, — feels  it  as  if  it 
were  her  own " 

"  Ah,  you  have  it,"  said  Karl ;  "  that  is  why  she 
is  happy.  It  is  what  I  have  always  told  you — the  fact 
of  sympathy,  whether  it  is  with  joy  or  pain,  is  what 
enriches  and  perfects;  the  fact  of  sympathy  is  what 
makes  her  happy.  You  are  as  happy — with  the  broad 
sunshine  of  happiness,  even  though  a  bitter  wind  whis- 
tles— when  Isolde  sinks  lifeless  by  the  body  of  Tris- 
tran  as  when  Siegfried  hears  the  singing  of  the  bird." 

He  paused  a  moment  looking  at  the  fire,  then  turned 
to  Martin. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lad,"  he  said,  "  pray  that  you  drink 
to  the  dregs  any  cup  of  sorrow  or  of  joy  that  may  be 
given  you.  Never  shrink  from  pain — you  will  not 
become   your  best   self   without   it.      But   by   it  and 


236  THE    CHALLONERS 

through  it,  and  in  no  selfish  or  egoistic  manner,  you 
will  fulfil  yourself." 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  turned  on  switch  after 
switch  of  electric  light. 

"  It  is  like  this,"  he  said,  feeling  in  his  sudden  desire 
for  light  some  instinctive  connection  with  what  he  was 
saying.  "  Open  the  doors,  open  the  windows  of  your 
soul, — let  the  sun  in  and  the  wind.  And  this  is  a  music- 
lesson,''  he  added,  laughing.  "  Well  I  have  given  a 
good  many  in  my  life,  and  should  be  pleased  to  know  I 
never  gave  a  worse  one.  Now,  what  have  you  done 
since  I  saw  you  last?" 

Martin  walked  quickly  over  to  the  piano  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Listen,"  he  said. 

He  played  a  few  bars  of  very  intricate  phrase  after 
the  manner  of  the  opening  of  a  fugue.  Then  in  the 
bass  half  the  phrase  was  repeated,  but  it  finished  with 
something  perfectly  different,  a  third  and  a  fourth  or 
a  fifth  joined  in,  and  before  the  "  whole  kennel  was 
a-yelp"  the  original  subject  had  passed  through  rapid 
gradations  until  it  had  become  something  totally  dif- 
ferent to  what  it  began  with,  though  still  an  incessant 
jabber  of  cognate  phrases,  never  quite  coherent,  were 
somehow  strung  together  and  worked  against  each 
other  by  a  miracle  of  ingenuity.  Then  the  original 
subject  was  repeated  with  emphatic  insistence,  as  if  to 
call  renewed  attention  to  itself,  but  it  was  answered 
this  time  by  a  phrase  that  had  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  it;  a  third  short  melody  totally  different  from 
anything  that  had  gone  before  or  was  to  come  after 
ran  its  brief  and  ridiculous  course,  and  then  a  perfect 
hodge-podge  of  reminiscences  of  all  that  had  previ- 


THE    CHALLONERS  237 

ously  occurred,  handled  with  extraordinary  dexterity, 
made  the  brain  positively  reel  and  swim.  Finally  a 
huge  bravura  passage,  as  much  decked  out  with  ribands 
and  lace  as  a  fashionable  woman  at  a  party,  brought 
this  insane  composition,  which  taxed  even  Martin's 
fingers,  to  a  totally  unexpected  close. 

Karl  Rusoff  had  listened  at  first  with  sheer  uncom- 
prehending bewilderment,  unable,  since  indeed  there 
was  neither  head  nor  tail  nor  body  to  it,  to  make  any- 
thing whatever  out  of  it,  and  for  a  moment  he  won- 
dered if  Martin  was  merely  playing  the  fool.  But  as 
he  looked  at  his  face  bent  over  the  piano,  and  saw  even 
his  fingers  nearly  in  difficulties,  a  sudden  light  struck 
him,  and  he  began  to  smile.  And  before  the  end  was 
reached  he  sat  shaking  in  his  chair  with  hopeless 
laughter. 

"  Ah,  you  wicked  boy,"  he  said,  "  why  even  our  dear 
Lady  Sunningdale  would  recognise  herself." 

Martin  pushed  his  plume  out  of  his  left  eye  and 
laughed. 

"  That's  the  joy  of  it,"  he  said.  "  She  did  recog- 
nise it.  About  half  way  through  she  said,  '  Why,  that's 
me.'  You  know  you  told  me  to  do  that, — to  take  any- 
thing, the  east  wind,  or  a  London  fog,  or  a  friend,  and 
make  music  of  it." 

"  Play  it  once  more,  if  you  will,"  said  Karl,  "  and 
then  to  work.  Not  that  that  is  no  work.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  work  in  that.  Also  I  perceive  with  secret 
satisfaction  that  you  do  not  find  it  easy  to  play.  But 
the  bravura  is  rather  unkind.  She  is  never  quite  like 
that." 

"  Ah,  the  bravura  is  only  her  clothes,"  said  Martin, 
preparing  to  begin  again.     "  She  even  told  me  which 


238  THE    CHALLONERS 

hat  she  had  on.  It  is  the  one  she  describes  as  a  covey 
of  birds  of  paradise  which  have  been  out  all  night  in 
a  thunderstorm,  sitting  on  a  tomato-salad." 

Again  Karl  sat  and  listened  to  the  torrent  of  frag- 
ments and  currents  of  interrupted  thoughts.  Heard 
for  the  second  time  it  seemed  to  him  even  a  more 
brilliantly  constructed  absence  of  construction  than  be- 
fore, an  anomalous  farrago  which  could  only  have  been 
attained  by  a  really  scholarly  and  studious  disregard  of 
all  rules;  no  one  who  had  not  the  rules  at  his  finger- 
tips could  have  broken  them  so  accurately.  It  was  a 
gorgeous  parody  of  musical  grammar  in  exactly  the 
mode  in  which  Lady  Sunningdale's  conversation  was  a 
brilliant  parody  of  speech,  full  of  disconnected  wit,  and 
lit  from  end  to  end  with  humour,  but  as  jerky  as  the 
antics  of  a  monkey,  as  incapable  of  sustained  flight  in 
any  one  direction  as  a  broken-winged  bird,  a  glorious 
extravagance. 

Karl  had  left  his  seat  and  stood  near  the  piano  as 
the  bravura  passage  began.  This  time  it  seemed  to 
present  no  difficulty  to  Martin,  though  his  unerring 
hands  were  hardly  more  than  a  brown  mist  over  the 
keys.  And  Karl  felt  a  sudden  spasm  of  jealousy  of 
his  pupil  as  a  huge  cascade  of  tenths  and  octaves 
streamed  out  of  Martin's  fingers. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  the  bravura  is  not  easy,"  he  remarked, 
when  Martin  had  finished,  "  and  I  think  you  played  it 
without  a  mistake,  did  you  not  ?  Is  it  quite  easy  to  play 
tenths  like  that?" 

Martin  laughed. 

"  I  find  I've  got  not  to  think  of  anything  else,"  he 
said.  "  Will  that  do  for  my  composition  for  th^ 
week?" 


THE    CHALLONERS  239 

Karl  laughed. 

"  Yes,  very  well,  indeed,"  he  said.  "  It  has  lots  of 
humour, — and  humour  in  music  is  rather  rare.  But 
don't  cultivate  it,  or  some  day  you  will  find  yourself 
in  the  position  of  a  man  who  can't  help  making  puns. 
A  dismal  fate.  Now,  let  us  leave  it — it  is  admirable — 
and  get  to  work.  I  think  I  told  you  to  study  the  last 
of  the  Noveletten.    Play  it,  please.?' 

This  time,  however,  there  was  no  laughter  and  no 
approbation.     Karl  looked  rather  formidable. 

"  It  won't  do, — it  won't  do  at  all,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  the  notes,  but  that  is  absolutely  all.  It  is  per- 
fectly empty  and  dead.  A  pianola  would  do  as  well. 
What's  the  matter?    Can't  you  read  anything  into  it?" 

Martin  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  know  it's  all  wrong,"  he  said.  "  But  I  can't 
make  anything  of  it.    It's  stodgy." 

Karl's  eyes  glared  rather  dangerously  from  behind 
his  glasses. 

"Oh,  stodgy,  is  it?"  he  said,  slowly.  "Schumann 
is  stodgy.  That  is  news  to  me.  I  must  try  to  remem- 
ber that." 

Martin  looked  sideways  at  his  master,  but  Karl's 
face  did  not  relax. 

"  Stodgy !"  he  repeated.  "  I  know  where  the  stodgi- 
ness  comes  in.  Ah,  you  are  either  idiotic  or  you  have 
taken  no  trouble  about  it.  Because  you  have  found 
that  the  mere  execution  was  not  difficult  to  you,  you 
have  not  troubled  to  get  at  the  music.  I  gave  you 
music  to  learn,  and  you  have  brought  me  back  notes. 
Do  not  bring  a  piece  to  me  like  that  again.  If  I  give 
you  a  thing  to  learn,  I  do  so  for  some  reason.  Get  up, 
please." 


240  THE    CHALLONERS 

Karl  paused  a  moment,  summoning  to  his  aid  all 
that  he  knew,  all  he  had  ever  learned  to  give  cunning 
to  his  fingers  and  perception  to  his  brain.  Never  per- 
haps in  his  life  had  he  played  with  more  fire,  with  more 
eagerness  to  put  into  the  music  all  that  was  his  to  put 
there,  and  that  in  order  to  charm  no  crowded  hall 
packed  from  floor  to  ceiling,  but  to  show  just  one  pupil 
the  difference  between  playing  the  music  and  playing 
the  notes. 

Martin  had  left  the  music-stool  in  what  may  be 
called  dignified  silence  and  was  standing  by  the  fire; 
but  before  long  Karl  saw  him  out  of  the  corner  of  an 
eye  (he  could  spare  him  neither  thought  nor  look) 
steal  back  towards  the  piano,  and  though  he  could  not 
look  directly  at  his  face,  he  knew  what  was  there, — 
those  wide-open,  black  eyes,  finely-chiselled  nostrils, 
swelling  and  sinking  with  his  quickened  breath,  mouth 
a  little  open,  and  the  whole  vivid  brain  that  informed 
the  face  lost,  absorbed. 

He  came  to  the  end  and  sat  silent. 

"Is  that  there?"  asked  Martin,  in  a  half-breathless 
whisper.     "  Is  that  really  all  there?" 

Karl  looked  up.  Martin's  face  was  exactly  as  he  had 
known  it  would  be.  But  the  first  mood  of  the  artist 
was  of  humility. 

"  I  played  wrong  notes,"  he  said.  "  Half  a  dozen 
at  least." 

"  Oh,  more  than  that,"  said  Martin.  "  But  what 
does  that  matter?  You  played  it.  My  God,  what  a 
fool  I  have  been !  There  I  sat,  day  after  day,  and  never 
saw  the  music." 

Karl  Rusoff  got  up.  It  had  been  a  very  good  music- 
lesson. 


THE    CHALLONEES  241 

"  It  isn't  '  stodgy,'  "  he  said.  "  It  isn't,  really.  Do 
you  now  see  one  thing  out  of  a  hundred  perhaps  that 
it  means?  You  have  got  to  be  the  critic  of  the  music 
you  play, — you  have  to  interpret  it.  But  out  of  all  the 
ways  of  playing  that,  out  of  all  that  can  be  seen  in 
it,  you  saw  nothing,  your  rendering  was  absolutely 
without  meaning  or  colour.  To  play  needs  all  you  are ; 
you  gave  that  fingers  only.  If  I  want  you  to  practise 
fingers  only,  I  will  tell  you  so,  and  give  you  a  finger 
exercise  or  Diabelli.  Otherwise  you  may  take  it  for 
granted  that  when  your  fingers  are  perfect  your  work 
begins.  But  to  play — ah — you  have  to  burn  before 
you  play." 

Martin  still  hung  over  the  piano. 

"  And  I  thought  it  stodgy,"  he  repeated,  looking  shy 
and  sideways  at  Karl's  great  grey  head. 

"  Well,  you  won't  again,"  said  he.  "  Will  you  try 
it  again  now  ?" 

"  No;  how  can  I?"  said  Martin.  "  I've  got  to  be- 
gin it  all  over  again." 

"  Then  there  was  a  piece  of  Bach.  Play  that.  And 
now  read  nothing  into  it  except  the  simplicity  of  a 
child.  Just  the  notes, — the  more  simply  the  better. 
Wait  a  moment,  Martin.  I  want  to  enjoy  it.  Let  me 
sit  down." 

Martin  waited,  and  then  began  one  of  the  Suites 
Anglaises,  and  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air  in  a  stuffy 
room,  or  like  a  cloudless  dawn  with  the  singing  of 
birds  after  a  night  of  storm  and  thunder,  the  exquisite 
melody  flowed  from  his  fingers,  precise,  youthful,  and 
joyous.  There  was  no  introspection  here,  no  moods 
of  a  troubled  soul,  no  doubts  or  questioning;  it  sang 
as  a   thrush   sings,   changed   and  returned   on   itself, 

16 


242  THE    CHALLONERS 

danced  in  a  gavotte,  moved  slowly  in  a  minuet,  and 
romped  through  a  Bourree  like  a  child. 

At  the  end  Martin  laughed  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  how  good !"  he  cried.  "  Did  you  know 
that  Bach  wrote  that  for  me?"  he  asked,  turning 
to   Karl. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  he  must  have,"  said  Karl.  "  And 
with  the  command  that  you  were  to  play  it  to  me.  You 
played  that  very  well;  all  your  fingers  were  of  one 
weight.     How  did  you  learn  that?" 

Martin  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Why,  it  would  spoil  it,  would  it  not,  to  play  it  any 
other  way?"  he  asked. 

"  Certainly  it  would." 

Then  he  got  up  quickly. 

"  Oh,  Martin,  you  child,"  he  said.  "  Did  I  speak  to 
you  roughly  about  the  Schumann?" 

"  You  did  rather,"  he  said.  "  But  I  deserved  to 
have  my  ears  boxed." 

The  two  dined  alone,  and  held  heated  arguments, 
not  like  master  and  pupil,  but  like  two  students  who 
worked  side  by  side,  Karl  as  often  as  not  deferring 
to  the  other,  Martin  as  often  as  not  blandly  disagreeing 
with  Karl. 

"  How  can  you  pronounce,  for  instance,"  he  asked, 
"that  that  Novelette  is  to  be  played  with  those  sweat- 
ings and  groanings,  the  mere  notes  being  of  no  use, 
whereas  Bach  is  to  be  played  with  notes  only?" 

Karl  gazed  at  him  in  silence. 

"You  impertinent  infant,"  he  said.  "What  else  do 
you  propose?  To  play  the  Schumann  as  you  played 
it?    And  the  Bach  as  I  played  the  Schumann?" 


THE    CHALLONERS  243 

"That  would  sound  extremely  funny,"  remarked 
Martin.  ''  No,  I  don't  say  you  are  not  right ;  but  how- 
do  you  know  you  are  right?" 

"  Because  Bach  wrote  for  the  spinet,"  said  Karl. 
"  Have  you  ever  tried  to  play  Schumann  on  a  spinet  ? 
It  sounds  exactly  as  you  made  it  sound  just  now, 
A  deplorable  performance,  my  poor  boy." 

"  You  have  told  me  that.  Don't  rub  it  in  so.  I 
shall  play  it  very  well  to-morrow." 

"  Or  next  year,"  said  Karl,  still  grim,  but  inwardly 
full  of  laughter.  "  By  the  way,  there  was  no  '  dog' 
motive  in  the  Lady  Sunningdale  composition." 

"  You  can't  have  been  attending,"  said  Martin. 
"  Suez  Canal  came  in  twice,  and  Sahara  three  times, 
with  shrill  barks.    Yes,  please,  another  cutlet." 

Karl  watched  him  eat  it.  The  process  took  about  five 
seconds. 

"You  didn't  taste  that,"  he  remarked. 

"No;  it  was  needed  elsewhere,"  said  Martin.  "But 
I'm  sure  it  was  very  good." 

Karl  lingered  over  the  bouquet  of  his  Burgundy. 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing,"  he  said,  "  that  mankind  are 
so  gross  as  to  confuse  the  sense  of  taste  with  greedi- 
ness. No,  my  dear  boy,  I  am  not  at  this  moment 
attacking  you.  But  there  is  no  organ,  even  that  of 
the  ear,  in  this  wonderful  body  of  ours  so  fine  as  that 
of  taste.  Yet  to  most  people  the  sight  of  a  man  deeply 
appreciating  his  dinner  conveys  a  feeling  of  greedi- 
ness. But  I  always  respect  such  a  man.  He  has  a 
sense  more  than  most  people." 

"  But  isn't  it  greedy?"  asked  Martin. 

Karl  became  deeply  impressive. 

"It   is   no   more   greedy,"   he   said,    "to  catch   the 


244  THE    CHALLONERS 

flavour  of  an  olive  or  an  oyster  than  to  catch  the 
tone  of  a  'cello." 

"  Ah,  that  would  be  like  encoring  a  song  in  an  opera 
— a  most  detestable  habit — and  hearing  it  over  and 
over  again.  No  artist  desires  that.  Fancy  hearing 
Wotan's  Abschied  twice.  That  would  be  greedy.  The 
art  of  dining,  like  most  arts,  is  frightfully  neglected  in 
England." 

Martin  laughed. 

"  I  have  been  here,  I  suppose,  a  dozen  times,"  he 
said,  "  and  every  time  you  give  me  some  surprise.  I 
had  no  idea  you  gave  two  thoughts  as  to  what  you 
ate." 

"  That  was  hasty  of  you.  True,  of  all  the  senses,  I 
put  the  ear  first.  That  is  personal  predilection.  But 
all  the  senses  really  are  equal;  there  is  no  shadow  of 
reason  for  supposing  that  one  is  more  elevated  than 
another.  True,  some  can  be  more  easily  misused  than 
others,  taste  more  particularly.  But  all  are  subtle  gate- 
ways to  the  soul." 

They  had  finished  dinner  and  Karl  pushed  back  his 
chair. 

"  Take  an  instance,"  he  said.  "  Take  incense.  Does 
not  that  smell  excite  and  inspire  the  devotional  sense? 
Does  not  the  smell  of  frangipanni — an  unedurable 
odour — suggest  a  sort  of  hot-house  sensualism?  Does 
not  the  smell  of  a  frosty  November  morning  bring 
the  sense  of  cleanness  into  the  very  marrow  of  your 
bones?" 

Martin  snifTed  experimentally. 

"  Ah,  I  know  that,"  he  said.  "  And  the  leaves  on  the 
beech-trees  are  red,  and  the  grass  underfoot  a  little 
crisp  with  frost.     Oh,  how  good !    But  what  then  ?" 


THE    CHALLONERS  245 

Karl  was  watching  him  closely.  It  was  his  con- 
scious object  now  and  always  to  make  Martin  think, 
to  excite  anything  in  him  that  could  touch  his  sense 
for  beauty.  He  had  found  that  this  half-serious,  half- 
flippant  method  was  the  easiest  means  of  approach, — 
for  Martin  was  but  a  boy.  Discussions  in  an  earnest, 
conscious  German  spirit  both  bored  and  alarmed  him. 
This  fact,  had  his  father  grasped  it,  might  in  years 
past  have  helped  matters. 

"  Why,  everything,"  he  replied.  "  Each  sense  can 
be  expressed  in  terms  of  another.  Take  magenta  in 
colour, — it  is  frangipanni  in  smell ;  in  sound  it  is — 
what  shall  we  say? — an  Anglican  chant  of  some  sort; 
in  taste  it  is  the  vague  brown  sauce  in  which  a  bad  cook 
hides  his  horrors." 

Martin  laughed  again,  with  the  keen  pleasure  of 
youth  in  all  things  experimental. 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,"  he  said.  "  How  do  you  go  on? 
Take  a  fine  colour, — vermilion." 

"  The  blind  man  said  it  must  be  like  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet,"  said  Karl ;  "  and  the  blind  man  at  that  mo- 
ment saw.  Brandy  also  for  taste  is  red.  So  is  am- 
monia,— a  pistol  to  your  nostrils." 

Martin  dabbed  his  cigarette  on  to  his  dessert  plate. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  cried,  "  and  C  major  is  red.  And 
F  sharp  is  blue, — electric  blue,  like  the  grotto  at  Ca- 
pri " 

He  stopped  suddenly. 

"  Am  I  talking  nonsense  ?"  he  asked.  "  If  so,  it  is 
your  fault.  You  encourage  me.  You  meant  to.  And 
what  do  you  mean  me  to  get  from  it?" 

Karl  turned  directly  towards  him. 

"  I  mean  you  to  think,"  he  said.     "  To  frame  your 


246  THE    CHALLONERS 

life  wholly  for  beauty  in  whatever  form  you  see  it.  It 
is  everywhere,  be  assured  of  that;  and  if  your  eye  sees 
it,  store  it  up  like  a  honey-bee,  and  bring  it  home.  If 
your  mouth  feels  it,  bring  it  home.  If  you  smell  the 
autumn  morning,  bring  that  home,  too.  It  all  makes 
music." 

He  pushed  his  plate  aside  and  leaned  forward  to- 
wards Martin. 

"  All  is  food  for  you,"  he  said.  "  It  is  only  in  that 
way,  by  harvesting  every  grain  of  corn  you  see,  that 
you  can  be  great.  A  lot  of  harvesting  is  done  un- 
consciously. Supplement  that  by  conscious  harvesting. 
You  may  learn  perfectly  all  the  harmony  and  counter- 
point that  can  be  learned,  you  may  learn  to  play  things 
impossible,  but  all  that  is  no  good  by  itself.  You 
can  already  play, — I  am  not  flattering  you,  but  the  re- 
verse,— if  you  practise  a  little,  all  the  printed  music 
ever  written,  as  far  as  notes  go.  That  is  no  good 
either.  But — if  I  had  not  seen  this  when  first  I  heard 
you  play,  I  should  never  have  wasted  ten  minutes  of 
my  time  on  you — you  can  do  more  than  that.  You 
can,  if  you  are  very  alert,  quite  untiring,  very  critical, 
and  always  ready  to  catch  beauty  in  whatever  form 
it  may  present  itself,  you  can  do  more  than  this.  At 
least  I  believe  so." 

He  got  up  from  his  seat  and  leaned  his  hands  on  the 
boy's  shoulders  as  he  sat  by  the  table. 

"  Ah,  Martin,  don't  disappoint  me,"  he  said,  "  or, 
being  old,  I  shall  die  of  it.  Drink  from  every  spring 
but  one,  and  drink  deep." 

Martin  turned  in  his  chair  and  faced  him. 

"Do  I  know  what  spring  vou  mean?"  he  asked. 
"Love?" 


THE    CHALLONERS  247 

Karl  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  wonder. 

"  No,  I  did  not  mean  that,"  he  said. 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  My  God,  if  that  had  been  granted  to  me,"  he  said, 
"  I  too  might  have  been  great.  But  I  never  fell  in 
love.  Oh,  I  am  successful;  I  know  I  understand;  I 
am  the  only  person,  perhaps,  who  does  know  what  is 
missing  in  me.  It  is  that.  But  missing  that,  I  never, 
no,  not  once,  parodied  what  I  did  not  know.  Parody, 
parody !"  he  repeated. 

Martin  looked  at  him  with  that  direct,  lucid  gaze 
Karl  knew  so  well,  level  beneath  the  straight  line  of 
his  eyebrows.  His  smooth,  brown  cheeks  were  a  little 
flushed  with  some  emotion  he  could  not  have  put  a 
name  to.  Slight  injury  was  there,  that  Karl  could 
possibly  have  supposed  him  bestial,  the  rest  was  clean 
modesty. 

"  I  am  not  beastly,"  he  said,  "  if  you  mean  that." 

"  I  did  mean  that,"  he  said.  "  And  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

Martin  stood  up. 

"  I  think  you  had  no  right  to  suppose  that,"  he  said. 

"  No,  I  had  none.  I  did  not  suppose  it.  I  warned 
you,  though." 

A  tenderness  such  as  he  had  never  known  rose  like 
a  blush  into  his  old  bones,  tenderness  for  this  supreme 
talent  that  had  been  placed  in  his  hands. 

"  I  only  warned  you,"  he  said.  "  I  looked  for 
burglars  under  your  bed,  just  because — because  it  is 
a  boy  like  you  that  this  stupid  world  tries  to  spoil. 
Aye,  and  it  will  try  to  spoil  you.  Women  will  make 
love  to  you.     They  will  fall  in  love  with  you,  too." 

Again  he  paused. 


248  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Things  will  be  made  poisonously  pleasant  for 
you,"  he  said.  "  You  can  without  effort  capture  bril- 
liant success.  But  remember  all  that  you  get  without 
effort  is  not,  from  the  point  of  view  of  art,  conceivably 
worth  anything.  Remember  also  that  nothing  fine 
ever  grew  out  of  what  is  horrible.  More  than  that, 
what  is  horrible  sterilizes  the  soil, — that  soil  is  you. 
You  will  never  get  any  more  if  you  spoil  it  or  let  it 
get  sour  or  rancid.  Horror  gets  rooted  there,  it  de- 
vours all  that  might  have  been  good,  all  that  might 
have  been  of  the  best." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  Karl  stepped  back 
and  rang  the  bell.  To  Martin  the  silvery  tinkle 
sounded  remote.     He  certainly  was  thinking  now. 

"  Well,  I  have  done,"  said  Karl.  "  Excuse  the — 
the  Nonconformist  conscience." 

Martin  got  up. 

"  I  don't  see  how  one  can  care — really  care — for 
music  and  live  grossly,"  he  said.  "  Yet  people  appear 
to  manage  it.  And  mawkishness  makes  me  feel  sick," 
he  added  with  apparent  irrelevance. 

But  Karl  understood. 

"  Somebody  has  been  trying  to  pet  him,"  he  thought 
to  himself. 

They  went  upstairs  to  the  music-room,  and  Martin 
stood  before  the  fire  a  few  moments  smoking  in  silence. 

"  I  like  this  room,"  he  said.  "  It  makes  me  feel 
clean,  like  the  November  morning.  I  say,  how  is  it 
that  so  many  people,  men  and  women  alike,  only  think 
about  one  subject?  Surely  it  is  extraordinarily  stupid 
of  them,  when  there  are  so  many  jolly  things  in  the 
world." 

"  Ah,  if  the  world  was  not  full  of  extraordinarily 


THE    CHALLONERS  249 

stupid  people,"  remarked  Karl,  "  it  would  be  an  en- 
chanting place." 

"  Oh,  it's  enchanting  as  it  is,"  cried  Martin,  throw- 
ing off  his  preoccupation.  "  May  I  begin  again  at 
once?  I  want  to  get  through  a  lot  of  work  to-night. 
Heavens,  there's  a  barrel-organ  playing  '  Cavalleria.' 
Frank  is  going  to  introduce  a  bill  next  session,  he  says, 
putting  '  Cavalleria'  in  public  on  the  same  footing  as 
obscene  language  in  public.  He  says  it  comes  to  the 
same  thing." 

Stella  Plympton  about  this  time  was  giving  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  anxiety  to  her  parents.  The  amount,  it 
is  true,  was  not  very  great,  because  her  father  was  a 
happily  constituted  man  who  was  really  incapable  of 
feeling  great  anxiety  except  about  large  sums  of  money. 
Consequently,  since  the  extremely  large  sums  of  money, 
all  of  which  he  had  made,  were  most  admirably  in- 
vested, his  life  was  fairly  free  from  care.  His  wife 
also  was  quite  as  fortunate,  her  complexion  was  the 
only  thing  capable  of  moving  her  really  deeply,  and 
as  she  had  lately  found  a  new  masseuse  who  was  quite 
wonderful  and  obliterated  lines  with  the  same  soft 
completeness  with  which  bread-crumb  removes  the 
marks  of  lead-pencil,  she  also,  for  the  present,  stood 
outside  the  zone  of  serious  trouble. 

Between  them  they  occupied,  just  now,  the  apex  of 
social  as  well  as  most  other  successes  in  London,  and 
were  a  very  typically  modern  couple.  Sir  Reginald 
Plympton  had  in  early  life  invented  an  oil-cloth  of  so 
eminent  an  excellence  that  in  its  manufacture  and 
exploitation  he  had  been  too  busy  to  really  master  the 
English  aspirate,  which  still  bothered  him.     But  to 


250  THE    CHALLONERS 

make  up  for  this  he  had  carefully  cultivated  his  aspira- 
tions, and  had  (entirely  owing  to  oil-cloth),  while  not 
yet  sixty,  amassed  a  colossal  fortune,  married  the 
daughter  of  an  impecunious  duke,  won  the  Derby, 
and  now  stood  perched  on  the  topmost  rung  of  the 
ladder  of  English  society.  He  had  a  yacht,  which 
never  went  for  long  cruises,  but  always  anchored  for 
the  night  in  some  harbour.  Being  a  bad  sailor,  he  left 
it,  if  there  was  a  chance  of  bad  weather,  before  it 
weighed  anchor  in  the  morning,  and  joined  it  again 
on  the  ensuing  evening.  Similarly  he  sat  in  his  wife's 
opera-box  during  intervals  between  the  acts,  and  left 
his  place  on  the  rising  of  the  curtain.  He  was  already 
a  baronet  and  an  M.P.,  and  his  peer's  coronet,  so  to 
speak,  was  now  being  lined. 

Yet  care,  though  only  like  a  little  draught,  just 
stirred  the  warm  air  of  Lady  Monica's  drawing-room 
and  made  the  palm-trees  rattle.  She  had  often  talked 
the  matter  over  with  her  husband,  who  had  no  very 
practical  suggestion  to  make.  He  would  stand  before 
her,  very  square  and  squat,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  rattling  money  in  the  one  and  keys  in  the 
other,  and  say: 

"  Well,  my  lady,  you  give  'er  a  good  talkin'  to.  Tell 
'er  to  be  a  good  girl,  and  be  sensible.  And  now  I  must 
be  off." 

For  the  fact  was  that  Stella  was  now  nearly  twenty- 
three.  She  had  refused  several  very  suitable  offers, 
and  her  mother,  extremely  anxious,  as  all  good  mothers 
should  be,  to  get  her  married,  had  lately  begun  to  be 
afraid  that  she  was  "  being  silly."  This  in  her  vocabu- 
lary meant  that  Stella  was  in  love  with  somebody 
(Lady  Monica  thought  she  knew  with  whom)   and 


THE    CHALLONERS  251 

was  not  clever  enough  to  make  him  propose  to  her. 
What  added  enormity  to  her  ''  silhness"  was  the  fact 
that  he  was  extremely  eligible.  Lady  Monica  had  no 
sympathy  with  this  sort  of  thing;  she  had  never  been 
silly  herself,  and  her  own  sentimental  history  had  been 
that  some  twenty-four  years  ago  she  had  wooed,  pro- 
posed to,  and  wedded  her  Reginald  without  any  fuss 
whatever  or  any  delay.  She  was  a  woman  with  a 
great  deal  of  hard,  useful  common  sense;  she  always 
knew  exactly  what  she  wanted,  and  almost  always  got 
it.  Her  only  weakness,  in  fact  (with  the  discovery  of 
the  new  masseuse,  her  complexion  had  become  a  posi- 
tive source  of  strength),  was  for  feeble  flirtations  with 
young  men  of  the  age  which  she  herself  wished  to 
look.  These  never  came  to  anything  at  all ;  and  when 
the  young  man  in  question  married  somebody  perfectly 
different,  she  told  all  her  friends  that  she  had  made 
him.  She  had  during  the  last  week  or  two,  since  the 
session  had  brought  them  to  London,  done  a  little 
vicarious  love-making  to  Martin  on  Stella's  account, 
and  enjoyed  it  on  her  own.  She  was  a  perfectly  honest 
woman,  and  only  played  with  fire  as  a  child  plays  with 
matches,  lighting  them  and  blowing  them  out,  and  she 
never  really  set  fire  to  herself,  and  quite  certainly 
never  even  scorched  anybody  else. 

But  anxiety,  like  a  draught,  had  reached  her  with 
regard  to  Stella's  future,  and  the  next  evening,  when 
Lady  Sunningdale  happened  to  be  giving  a  menagerie- 
party,  she  determined  to  have  a  few  words  with  her, 
for  she  was  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  book  of  reference 
with  regard  to  the  twins.  The  menagerie-party  was 
so  called  because  for  a  week  beforehand  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale drove  about  London  a  good  deal  and  screamed 


252  THE    CHALLONEES 

an  invitation  to  everybody  she  saw  in  the  streets.  The 
hons  only  were  fed ;  the  meaner  animals  and  those 
lions  only  observed  too  late  to  ask  to  dinner  came  in 
afterwards. 

Lady  Monica  and  Stella  belonged  to  this  second 
category,  and  Lady  Siinningdale  hailed  them  with 
effusion. 

''  Dearest  Monica,  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  cried. 
"  All  sorts  of  people  are  here,  whom  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  by  sight,  and  I've  just  revoked  at  Bridge 
(double  no  trumps,  too;  isn't  it  too  dreadful!),  and 
Suez  Canal  tried  to  bite  the  Prime  Minister.  Wasn't  it 
naughty  ?  But,  you  see,  Suez  is  a  Radical, — though  he 
shouldn't  bring  politics  into  private  life.  Stella,  I 
haven't  seen  you  for  years.  Yes ;  IMartin's  going  to 
play,  of  course.  Have  you  heard  his  tune  which  imi- 
tates me  talking  in  a  very  large  hat  ?  Simply  heavenly ; 
exactly  like.  Even  Sunningdale  awoke  the  other  even- 
ing when  he  played  it,  and  asked  me  what  I  was  say- 
ing. How  are  you,  Frank?  No  sign  of  relenting 
on  the  part  of  the  obdurate  father  ?  How  dreadful ! 
Yes.  Dearest  Monica,  how  well  you  are  looking,  and 
how  young!  ("New  masseuse/'  she  thought  to  her- 
self. "  I  must  worm  it  out.")  Do  let  us  go  and  sit 
down.  I'm  sure  everybody  has  come.  Oh,  there  is  the 
Spanish  Ambassador.  He  killed  his  own  father,  you 
know, — shot  him  dead  on  the  staircase,  thinking  he 
was  a  burglar,  and  came  into  all  that  immense  property 
at  the  age  of  nineteen !  How  picturesque,  was  It  not, 
and  such  a  very  Spanish  thing  to  do!  Such  a  good 
shot,  too.  How  are  you,  sefior?  Yes;  they  are  play- 
ing Bridge  in  the  next  room.  And  they  say  there  is 
sure  to  be  a  dissolution  in  the  autumn." 


THE    CHALLONERS  253 

Lady  Sunningdale  poured  out  this  spate  of  useful 
information  in  her  usual  manner,  addressing  her  re- 
marks indiscriminately  to  any  one  who  happened  to 
be  near,  and  Lady  Monica  waited  till  the  flood  showed 
some  sign  of  abating.  She  had  a  vague  contempt  for 
Lady  Sunningdale's  '*  methods,"  concidering  that  she 
diffused  herself  too  much.  She  never  caught  hold  of 
anything  and  held  tight  till  everybody  else  who  wanted 
it  let  go  from  sheer  fatigue,  which  was  a  favourite 
method  of  her  own.  On  the  other  hand.  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale certainly  managed  to  pick  up  a  great  many 
bright  objects  as  she  went  along,  even  though  she  did 
drop  them  again  almost  immediately. 

"  Do  come  away  and  talk  to  me,  Violet,"  said  Lady 
Monica,  when  for  a  moment  there  was  silence.  "  I 
came  here  entirely  to  have  a  confabulation  with 
you." 

"  Yes,  dear,  by  all  means.  I  have  heard  nothing  in- 
teresting for  weeks  except  the  things  I've  made  up 
and  told  in  confidence  to  somebody,  which  have  eventu- 
ally come  round  to  me  again,  also  in  confidence. 
What's  it  all  about?" 

As  soon  as  they  had  found  a  corner.  Lady  Monica, 
as  her  custom  was,  went  quite  straight  to  the  point. 

"  It's  about  Stella,"  she  said.  "  Violet,  I  am  afraid 
Stella  is  being  silly." 

"How,  dear?  Stella  always  seems  to  me  so  sen- 
sible. Such  a  lovely  neck,  too ;  quite  like  yours.  Look, 
there  is  poor  Harry  Bentham.  A  lion  bit  his  arm  off, 
or  was  it  South  Africa?" 

Lady  Sunningdale  cast  a  roving  eye  in  his  direction, 
kissed  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and  motioned  him  not  to 
come  to  her.     Lady  Monica  waited  without  the  least 


254  THE    CHALLONERS 

impatience  till  she  had  quite  finished.  Then  she  went 
on,  exactly  where  she  had  left  off. 

"  Well,  it's  your  dreadfully  fascinating  Martin  Chal- 
loner,"  she  said ;  "  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  wonder.  My 
dear,  really  such  terribly  attractive  people  ought  to  be 
shut  up,  not  allowed  to  run  about  loose.  They  do  too 
much  damage." 

"  Well,  dear,  Stella  is  only  like  all  the  rest  of  us," 
said  Lady  Sunningdale.  "  You  remember  how  we  all 
ran  after  the  twins  last  summer." 

"  I  know ;  we  all  got  quite  out  of  breath.  But  Stella 
is  running  still.  Now,  do  you  think,  you  know  him 
so  well,  that  he  gives  two  thoughts  to  her?  They  are 
great  friends,  they  are  often  together,  but  if  it  is  all  to 
come  to  nothing,  I  shall  stop  it  at  once.  Stella  has  no 
time  to  waste." 

Lady  Sunningdale  considered  this  a  moment.  She 
knew  all  about  Monica's  little  flirtations  with  Martin; 
so  also  did  he,  and  had  imitated  her,  for  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale's  benefit,  with  deadly  accuracy.  But  she  was 
too  good-natured  to  spoil  sport  just  because  Stella's 
mother  had  been  a  shade  too  sprightly  for  her  years. 
Besides,  she  meant  to  say  a  word  or  two  about  that 
later  on,  a  word  that  would  rankle  afterwards. 

"  My  dear,  I  can't  really  tell  whether  Martin  ever 
thinks  about  her  or  not,"  she  said.  "  He  is  so  ex- 
traordinary; he  is  simply  a  boy  yet  in  many  ways, 
and  he  plays  at  life  as  a  boy  plays  at  some  absurd  game, 
absorbed  in  it,  but  still  considering  it  a  game.  Then 
suddenly  he  goes  and  does  something  deadly  serious, 
like  joining  the  Roman  Church.  Practically,  also,  you 
must  remember  that  he  thinks  almost  entirely  about 
one  thing, — his  music.    That  child  sits  down  and  plays 


THE    CHALLONERS  255 

with  the  experience  and  the  feehng  and  the  fingers 
which,  as  Karl  Rusoff  says,  have  never  yet  been  known 
to  exist  in  a  boy.  He  is  hke  radium,  something  quite 
new.  We've  got  to  learn  about  it  before  we  can  say 
what  it  will  do  in  given  circumstances.  It  burns,  and 
it  is  unconsumed.  So  like  Martin !  But  Karl  says  he 
is  changing,  growing  up.  I  can't  help  feeling  it's 
rather  a  pity.  Yes.  Of  course  he  can't  be  a  bachelor 
all  his  life;  that  is  impermissible.  But  Karl  always 
says,  '  I  implore  you  to  leave  him  alone.  Don't  force 
him;  don't  even  suggest  things  to  him.  He  will  find 
his  way  so  long  as  nobody  shews  it  him.'  Karl  is  de- 
voted to  him, — just  like  a  beautiful  old  hen  in  spectacles 
with  one  chicken." 

But  Lady  Monica  had  not  the  smallest  intention  of 
talking  about  Karl,  and  led  the  conversation  firmly 
back. 

"  Well,  Violet,  will  you  try  to  find  out?"  she  asked. 

Lady  Sunningdale's  eye  and  attention  wandered. 

"  Ah,  there  is  Sunningdale,"  she  said.  "  Does  he 
not  look  lost?  He  always  looks  like  that  at  a  men- 
agerie. Yes,  I  will  try  to  sound  Martin,  if  you  like. 
I  must  make  him  confide  in  me  somehow,  and  be 
rather  tender,  and  he  will  probably  tell  me,  though  he 
will  certainly  imitate  me  and  my  tendencies  afterwards. 
He  imitates  people  who  take  an  interest  in  him— that 
is  his  phrase — too  beautifully.  I  roared," — Lady  Sun- 
ningdale cast  a  quick,  sideways  glance  at  her  friend, — • 
"  simply  roared  at  some  imitation  he  gave  the  other 
day  of  a  somewhat  elderly  woman  who  took  an  interest 
in  him.  Yes.  Poor  Suez  Canal !  He  loves  parties ; 
but  one  can't  let  him  bite  everybody  indiscriminately. 
Let  us  come  back,  dear  Monica,  and  make  the  twin 


256  THE    CHALLONERS 

play.  There  he  is  sitting  with  Stella.  He  asked  me 
particularly  if  she  was  coming.  They  are  probably 
talking  about  golf  or  something  dreadful.  Stella  is 
devoted  to  it,  is  she  not  ?  Yes.  That's  the  game  where 
you  make  runs,  is  it  not  ?  I  shall  have  to  sound  Martin 
very  carefully.  He  is  so  quick.  Sunningdale,  please 
take  Martin  firmly  by  the  arm,  and  if  he  tries  to  bite, 
by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  and  put  him  down  at  the 
piano.  No,  dear  Monica,  you  can  tell  nothing  by  his 
face.  He  always  looks  absorbed  and  excited  like  that. 
If  he  was  talking  to  you  he  would  look  just  the  same." 
That  also  was  premeditated  and  vicious,  just  in  case 
poor  Monica's  little  love-making,  which  Martin  had 
imitated  so  divinely,  had  not  been  wholly  vicarious. 
If  it  had,  her  remark  would  pass  unnoticed,  if  it  had 
not — but  there  was  no  need  to  consider  whether  it  had 
or  not,  for  poor  Monica  had  turned  quite  red  at  the 
mention  of  Martin's  imitation  of  the  elderly  woman 
who  took  an  interest  in  him. 


CHAPTER    XI 

Martin  had  been  among  the  Hons  who  were  fed  to- 
night at  Lady  Sunningdale's,  and  had  eaten  of  rich 
and  sHghtly  indeterminate  food,  for  his  hostess's  vague- 
ness and  vohibiHty,  like  Karl's  love  of  form,  found  ex- 
pression in  the  dinner.  Afterwards  he  had  taken  up 
a  strategic  position  near  the  head  of  the  stairs  when  the 
meaner  animals  or  belated  lions  began  to  arrive,  in 
order  to  watch  and  wait  for  Stella's  entrance.  Then 
as  soon  as  her  mother  and  Lady  Sunningdale  had  re- 
tired into  their  corner,  he  had  annexed  her — with  her 
complete  assent — and  plunged  into  discussions  about 
affairs  not  in  the  least  private.  Had  her  mother  over- 
heard, she  would,  with  her  strong,  practical  common 
sense,  have  ordered  the  conversation  to  cease  at  once, 
so  wanting  in  the  right  sort  of  intimacy  would  she  have 
found  it.  And  in  so  doing  she  would  have  made  one 
of  those  mistakes  which  are  so  often  and  so  inevitably 
committed  by  people  of  great  common  sense  but  no 
imagination,  who  cannot  allow  for  the  possible  pres- 
ence of  romance  in  pursuits  which  they  themselves 
consider  prosaic.  Had  Martin  been  talking  to  her 
daughter  about  music,  she  would  have  considered  that 
sufficiently  promising  to  allow  developments,  for  that 
was  a  thing  very  real  to  him, — his  heart  spoke.  As  it 
was,  she  would  have  considered  that  the  conversation 
held  not  a  germ  of  that  disease  of  which  she  longed 
that  Martin  should  sicken. 

Lady  Sunningdale,  far  less  superficial  really  than 

17  257 


258  THE    CHALLONERS 

the  other,  not  knowing  that  ahnost  everything  under 
the  sun  was  rich  with  childish  romance  in  Martin's 
eyes,  had  hazarded  the  suggestion  that  they  were  talk- 
ing about  golf.  This  was  practically  correct,  because 
they  were  talking  about  skating,  and  the  two  to  her 
were  indistinguishable, — she  supposed  you  got  runs  at 
each, — being  objectless  exercises  for  the  body.  The 
moment  you  hunted  or  shot  or  played  any  game  you 
entered  that  bracket.  All  these  things  were  of  the 
same  genre,  and  quite  unintelligible. 

"  But  I  can't  get  my  shoulders  round,"  said  Stella. 
"  It  is  no  earthly  use  telling  me  that  I  must.  They 
won't  go.  Can  you  understand  the  meaning  of  those 
three  simple  words,  or  shall  I  try  to  express  it  dif- 
ferently? And  if  I  try  to  make  them  get  round  I  fall 
down." 

Martin  frowned. 

"  Stella,  you  are  really  stupid  about  it,"  he  said, — 
they  had  long  ago  fallen  into  Christian  names.  "  For 
the  hundredth  time  you  have  to  consider  your  foot  as 
fixed.     Then  pivot  round,  head  first, — then " 

Stella  nodded. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  that,"  she  said.  "  It  is  always 
head  first  with  me, — on  the  ice." 

"  You're  not  being  serious,"  said  Martin ;  "  and  if 
you  can't  be  serious  about  a  game  you  can't  be  serious 
about  anything.  That  is  a  universal  truth.  I  dis- 
covered it.  What  do  you  suppose  matters  to  me  most 
in  my  life  ?  Music  ?  Not  at  all.  Get  along  with  you, 
you  silly  thing.  But,  oh,  if  any  one  would  teach  me  to 
do  back  brackets  not  rather  clean,  but  quite  clean.  I 
dreamed  I  did  one  once,  and  I  awoke  sobbing  loudly 
from  sheer  happiness.    I  would  sign  a  pledge  never  to 


THE    CHALLONERS  259 

touch  tobacco  or  a  piano  again,  if  I  could  do  that. 
That's  my  real  state  of  mind.  Now,  will  you  skate  to- 
morrow at  Prince's?  I  can  be  there  at  ten  for  an 
hour." 

"  Considering  I  am  always  there  at  half-past  nine," 
remarked  Stella,  "  I  don't  think  you  need  ask.  And 
yet  you  say  I  am  not  serious.  Oh,  Martin,  why  is  it 
that  one  really  only  wants  to  do  the  things  one  can't 
do?" 

"  You  can  if  you  want  enough,"  said  he.  "  The 
deuce  is  that  one  can't  always  want  enough." 

"  I  don't  believe  that,"  said  she  promptly, — Lady 
Monica  would  have  stayed  her  devastating  hand,  if  she 
had  heard  this, — "  I  want  lots  of  things  as  much  as  I 
possibly  can." 

"  But  perhaps  even  that  isn't  enough.  What,  for  in- 
stance?" 

Stella  could  not  help  a  momentary  lifting  of  her  eyes 
to  his. 

"  Why,  to  skate,  silly,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  I'll  be  there 
by  ten,  and  so  be  punctual.  I  will  consider  my  foot 
whatever  you  wish,  and  I'll  fall  down  as  often  as  you 
think  necessary.  But  don't  be  unkind  at  once  when  you 
pick  me  up,  and  tell  me  I  was  too  much  on  my  heel, 
or  anything  of  that  sort.  Wait  till  the  first  agony  is 
over.  I  attend  best  when  the  pain  is  beginning  to  pass 
off." 

"  Well,  I  only  tell  you  to  save  trouble  in  the  future," 
said  he. 

"  I  know,  but  give  me  a  moment.  Do  you  care  about 
the  future  much,  by  the  way?  I  don't.  Give  me  the 
immediate  present.  To  think  much  about  the  future 
is  a  sign  of  age.    No  one  begins  to  care  about  the  future 


260  THE    CHALLONERS 

until  he  is  too  old  to  have  any.  Besides,  it  implies  that 
the  present  has  ceased  to  be  absorbing." 

Martin  pondered  this. 

"  Oh,  no ;   I  don't  think  that  is  so  at  all." 

Stella  laughed. 

"  You  never,  by  any  chance,  agree  with  a  word  I 
say,"  she  remarked. 

"  Well,  you  haven't  agreed  with  me  since  August," 
he  said.  "  I  made  a  note  of  it.  But  that  is  why  we 
have  no  stupid  pauses.  All  conversation  runs  dry  in 
two  minutes  if  one  agrees  with  the  other  person.  But 
what  you  say  about  age  really  isn't  so.  Look  at  Karl 
Rusoff  or  Lady  Sunningdale.  They  both  live  intensely 
in  the  present." 

"  Ah,  you  are  shallow,"  she  said.  "  Years  have  got 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  age.  That  is  the  most 
superficial  view.  People  of  ninety  die  young,  people  of 
twenty  die  of  senile  decay." 

Martin  stretched  his  trouser  over  his  crossed  knee. 

"  I  am  a  hundred  and  eleven,"  he  said,  "  and  whiles 
— don't  you  hate  the  Scotch — and  whiles  I  am  about 
twelve  in  an  Eton  collar." 

"  Yes,  loathe  them,  laddie.  Hoots !  That  is  what  is 
so  maddening  about  you.  Half  the  time  I  think  I  am 
talking  to  my  great-uncle,  and  the  rest  of  it  to  my 
little  nephew  up  from  the  country." 

"  Is  he  a  nice  boy?"  asked  Martin.  "  Or  do  you  like 
your  great-uncle  best?" 

"  I  don't  like  either  at  all,  thank  you.  You  are 
always  being  far  too  wise  or  far  too  young.  As  a 
man  of  a  hundred,  how  can  you  play  silly  games  with 
such  enthusiasm?  And  as  a  boy  of  twelve,  how  can 
you  play  the  piano  as  you  do  ?" 


THE    CHALLONERS  2G1 

"  It  is  because  I  am  so  extremely  gifted,"  said 
Martin,  so  gravely  and  naturally  that  for  an  appre- 
ciable moment  she  stared. 

"  Ah !    Don't  you  find  it  an  awful  bore?"  she  asked. 

"  Dreadful.  I  can't  really  take  any  pleasure  in  any- 
thing, owing  to  the  sense  of  responsibility  which  my 
talents  bring  to  me." 

Stella  broke  down  and  laughed.  At  gravity  he  al- 
ways beat  her  completely.  At  which  period  in  their 
conversation  Lord  Sunningdale  did  as  he  was  ordered, 
and,  taking  him  firmly  by  the  arm,  led  him  to  the  piano. 

Karl  was  always  most  assiduous  in  his  attendance 
at  houses  where  Martin  played,  and  he  was  here  to- 
night. His  object  was  certainly  not  to  flatter  or  en- 
courage his  pupil,  for  often  and  often,  when  Martin 
had  played  in  his  presence  the  night  before,  he  found 
but  a  growling  reception  waiting  for  him  at  his  next 
lesson. 

"  You  played  well  enough  for  them,"  Karl  would 
say ;  "  I  grant  you  that.  Any  bungling  would  do  for 
them.  But  to  play  '  well  enough  for  them'  is  damna- 
tion." 

"  But  it  did/'  Martin  would  argue.  "  I  did  not  want 
to  play  at  all ;  but  one  can't  say  no.  At  least  I  can't.  I 
was  not  playing  for  you." 

"  Then  you  should  not  have  played  at  all.  If  you 
play  often  enough  in  a  second-rate  manner,  you  will 
soon  become  second-rate." 

But  to-night  Martin  never  suggested  the  second-rate 
even  to  his  exacting  master.  In  a  sort  of  boyish  pro- 
testation at  the  strictures  he  had  undergone  last  night 
concerning  the  last  of  the   Noveletten,  he  played   it 


262  THE    CHALLONERS 

again  now.  Certainly  to-night  there  was  no  note  of 
stodginess  there ;  the  varied,  crisp,  masterful  moods  of 
the  music  rang  extraordinarily  true.  Half  way 
through  Karl  turned  to  Lady  Sunningdale,  who  was 
sitting  next  him. 

"  How  has  he  spent  his  day?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

"  Skating,  I  think.  He  skated  all  morning,  and  was 
late  for  lunch,  and  he  went  back  to  Prince's  afterwards. 
He  is  terribly  idle,  is  he  not?  Pray  don't  interrupt, 
Monsieur  Rusoff.  I  never  can  feel  as  if  I  hear  a  note 
at  all  unless  I  hear  them  all.  Who  said  that?  You, 
I  think.  So  true.  And  have  you  heard  his  piece  on 
me?  He  must  play  it.  Delicious  this  is,  isn't  it?  I 
learned  it  when  I  was  a  child.  Tum-tum.  There  is 
the  tune  again." 

"  But  with  whom  did  he  skate,  my  dear  lady?"  asked 
Karl.  There  had  been  a  good  many  notes  missed  by 
now. 

Lady  Sunningdale  gasped. 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Rusoff,  how  clever  of  you !"  she 
said.  "  You  are  really  clairvoyant.  So  is  my  maid, — 
the  one  like  a  murderess.  Do  you  know  her  ?  No ;  how 
should  you.  Martin  was  skating  with  Stella  Plympton. 
And  that  is  important,  is  it?  Don't  tell  her  mother. 
She  is  such  a  fool,  and  also  she  has  been  trying  to 
pump  me.  You  see,  it  was  I  who  brought  them  to- 
gether. So  suitable.  I  feel  dreadfully  respon- 
sible  " 

At  this  point  the  Novelette  ended,  and  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale clapped  her  hands  in  a  perfunctory  manner. 

"  Too  heavenly,  monster,"  she  said.  "  Now  play 
Tum-te-tum.  Yes,  that  one.  And  is  he  really  going 
to  marry  her?"  she  continued  to  Karl.     "  I  love  being 


THE    CHALLONERS  263 

pumped,  if  I  know  it.  Dear  Monica,  she  pumps  like 
a  fire-engine.  There  is  no  possibihty  of  mistake.  Now, 
while  he  is  playing  this,  do  tell  me  all  you  know." 

"  My  dear  lady,  you  are  building  on  no  foundation," 
said  Karl.  "  All  I  know  is  that  he  played  that  to  me 
last  night,  and  played  it  abominably.  To-night  he  has 
played  it — well,  you  have  heard.  And,  psychologically, 
I  should  like  to  know  what  has  occurred  in  the  in- 
terval." 

"  Was  his  playing  of  it  just  now  very  wonderful?" 
she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  one  might  venture  to  say  that.  And  as  he 
has  been  skating  all  day,  presumably  he  has  not  thought 
much  about  it.  His  thinking  perhaps  has  been  done  for 
him.     And  who  is  Stella  Plympton?     Wife  or  maid?" 

Lady  Sunningdale  gave  a  little  shriek  of  laughter. 
Really  people  who  lived  out  of  the  world  were  much 
more  amusing  than  those  who  lived  in  it.  Those  who 
lived  in  it,  it  is  true,  always  believed  the  worst  in  the 
absence  of  definite  knowledge;  the  others,  however, 
made  far  more  startling  suggestions. 

"  Next  but  two  on  your  right,"  she  whispered. 
"  Dear  Monica  will  have  a  fit  if  Stella  turns  out  to  be 
already  married." 

Karl's  eyes  wandered  slowly  to  the  right,  looking 
pointedly  at  many  things  first,  at  the  cornice  of  the 
ceiling,  at  Martin's  profile,  at  the  slumber  of  Lord 
Sunningdale.     Then  they  swept  quickly  by  Stella. 

She  sat  there  absorbed  and  radiant,  her  face  flushed 
with  some  secret,  delicate  joy  as  she  watched  and 
listened,  hardly  knowing  whether  eyes  or  ears  de- 
manded her  attention  most.  Certainly  the  music  and 
the  musician  between  them  held  her  in  a  spell. 


264  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  She  is  looking  quite  her  best,"  whispered  Lady 
Sunningdale.  "  How  interesting !  They  have  mil- 
Hons,  you  know — oil-cake,  or  was  it  oil-cloth?  Oil- 
something,  anyhow,  which  sounds  so  rich,  and  she  is 
the  only  child.  The  father  is  quite  impossible,  not  an 
'  h,'  though  every  one  crowds  there.  One  always  does 
if  there  are  millions.  So  vulgar  of  one.  Dear  Monica, 
We  were  almost  brought  up  together." 

Karl  turned  round  to  her. 

"  Dear  Lady  Sunningdale,"  he  said,  "  you  are  really 
quite  premature  if  you  build  anything  on  what  I  have 
said.  He  played  admirably  to-night  what  he  played 
abominably  last  night.  That  is  absolutely  all  I  know. 
I  should  be  so  sorry  if  I  had  suggested  anything  to 
you  which  proved  to  be  without  any  sort  of  founda- 
tion." 

There  certainly  seemed  to  be  some  new  power  in 
Martin's  playing  to-night ;  but  new  power  had  con- 
stantly shewn  itself  there  during  the  last  month  or  two, 
for,  as  Karl  said,  he  had  been  growing.  To-night, 
however,  he  was  conscious  of  it  himself,  and  even  as  he 
played,  he  knew  that  fresh  light  of  some  kind,  some 
fresh  spring  of  inspiration,  was  his.  His  hand  and 
his  brain  were  too  busy  as  he  played  to  let  him  be 
more  than  conscious  of  it.  Where  it  came  from,  what 
it  was,  he  could  not  guess  this  moment ;  but  as  he 
struck  the  last  chords  the  tension  relaxed,  and  he  knew. 
Then,  looking  up,  he  saw  Stella  sitting  near  him,  lean- 
ing forward,  her  beautiful  mouth  a  little  open.  That 
glorious  white  column  of  her  neck  supported  her  head 
like  the  stem  of  a  flower, — no  garden  flower,  but  some- 
thing wonderful  and  wild.     There  were  rows  of  faces 


THE    CHALLONERS  265 

behind  her,  to  each  side  of  her, — she  was  one  in  a 
crowd  only ;  but  as  his  eyes  caught  her  gaze,  the  crowd 
fell  away,  became  misty  to  him,  vanished  as  a  breath 
vanishes  in  a  frosty  air,  and  she  only,  that  one  face 
bending  a  little  towards  him,  remained. 

For  a  long  moment  their  eyes  dwelt  on  each  other; 
neither  smiled,  for  the  occasion  was  too  grave  for  that, 
and  they  two  for  all  they  knew,  were  alone,  in  Para- 
dise or  in  the  desert,  it  was  all  one.  The  gay  crowd, 
the  applause  that  merged  into  a  crescendo  of  renewed 
conversation,  lights,  glitter,  men  and  women,  were  for 
that  one  moment  obliterated,  for  in  his  soul  Love  had 
leaped  to  birth, — no  puny  weakling,  prematurely 
warped  and  disfigured  by  evil  practices  and  parodies  of 
itself,  but  clean  and  full-grown  it  sprang  towards  her, 
knowing,  seeing  that  its  welcome  was  already  assured. 
Then  the  real  world,  so  strangely  unreal  in  comparison 
to  that  world  in  which  for  a  moment  their  souls  had 
mingled  and  embraced,  reeled  into  existence  again,  and 
Martin  rose  from  the  piano,  for  she  had  risen,  too,  and 
had  turned  to  some  phantom  on  her  right  that  appeared 
to  speak  to  her. 

Lady  Sunningdale  beckoned  and  screamed  to 
him. 

"Martin,"  she  cried,  "you  are  too  deevey!  Mon- 
sieur Rusoff  is  really  almost — didn't  you  say  almost — 
satisfied  with  the  way  you  played  that.  And  you 
learned  all  that  exquisite  thing — I  used  to  play  it  years 
ago — while  you  were  skating  to-day,  because  he  says 
you  played  it  too  abominably  last  night.  Really,  if  I 
thought  I  could  play  it  like  that  to-morrow  evening  I 
would  go  and  skate  all  day.  Now,  don't  waste  time, 
but  play  something  more  instantly." 


266  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Oh,  please,  Lady  Sunningdale,  I  would  rather 
not,''  said  he.  "  I  really  don't  think  I  could  play  any 
more  to-night.  I  really  am — I  don't  know  what — 
tired." 

Lady  Sunningdale  looked  at  his  brilliant,  vigorous 
face. 

"  Martin,  I  don't  believe  you  will  ever  learn  to  tell 
a  decent,  passible  lie,"  she  said.  "  Why  not  tell  me  you 
had  got  cancer.  Oh,  there's  Suez  Canal  come  back. 
Naughty!  Monsieur  Rusoff,  won't  you  tell  him  that 
he  must.  Just  a  scale  or  two.  I  adore  scales,  so  satis- 
factory, are  they  not — so  expected — as  if  it  was  a 
music-lesson.     No?     How  tiresome  of  you." 

Karl  laid  his  hand  on  Martin's  arm. 

"  No,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said.  "  He's  never  to  play 
except  when  he  wants  to.  But  if  you  really  want  a 
little  more  music,  and  I " 

"  Ah,  but  how  enchanting  of  you.  Monsieur  Rusoff 
is  going  to  play.  Surely,  dear  Monica,  you  will  wait. 
You  are  not  going  yet?" 

"  Desolated,  Violet,  but  Stella  says  she  feels  a  little 
faint.  The  hot  room,  I  suppose.  She  is  waiting  for 
me  outside.  How  deliciously  you  play,  Mr.  Challoner. 
I  suppose  you  practise  a  great  deal.  Won't  you  come 
some  day  and " 

She  broke  off,  for  Martin  had  simply  turned  his  back 
on  her,  and  was  firmly  edging  his  way  through  the 
crowd  to  the  door.  Then  Lady  Monica's  maternal  in- 
stinct positively  leaped  to  a  conclusion,  and  Martin's 
rudeness  was  completely  forgiven. 

"  But  I  can't  resist  waiting  to  hear  Monsieur  Ru- 
soff," she  said.  "  I  thought  he  never  played  at  private 
houses.    How  clever  of  you,  dear  Violet.    I  wonder  if 


THE    CHALLONERS  267 

you  could  get  him  to  play  for  me.  Stella  will  sit  down 
and  wait  for  me,  no  doubt." 

But  before  Karl  struck  the  first  chord,  Martin  had 
won  (not  to  say  pushed)  his  way  through  the  hushed 
crowd,  and  found  Stella  sitting  outside  in  the  other 
drawing-room.  Every  one  had  flocked  in  to  hear  the 
music,  and  they  were  alone. 

His  foot  was  noiseless  on  the  thick  carpet,  and  he 
was  but  a  yard  or  two  from  her  when  she  raised  her 
eyes  and  saw  him.  Then  with  a  little  choking  cry,  only 
half  articulate,  he  came  close  to  her.  All  the  excite- 
ment and  fire  in  which  his  life  was  passed  was  cold 
ashes  compared  to  this  moment,  and  his  heart  thumped 
riotously  against  his  chest.  Twice  he  tried  to  speak, 
but  his  trembling  lips  would  not  form  the  words,  and 
she  waited,  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  his.  Then  suddenly 
he  threw  his  arms  out. 

"  It  is  no  good  trying,"  he  said.  "  But  I  love  you! 
I — I  love  you  !" 

Oh,  the  clumsy,  bald  statement!  But  Life  and 
Death  meant  less  than  that  word. 

"  Oh,  Martin,"  she  said,  "  I  have  waited — I — I 
don't  know  what  I  am  saying." 

"Waited?"  he  asked,  and  his  eyes  glowed  like  hot 
coals. 

Then  he  laughed. 

"  And  you  never  told  me,"  he  said.  "  If  it  was  not 
you,  I  should  never  forgive  you.  And  if  it  was  not 
you,  I  should  not  care." 

"  Isn't  that  nonsense?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  probably.  Who  cares?  Stella!  Oh,  my 
star!" 

He  flung  his  arms  round  her. 


268  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  My  star,  my  star,"  he  cried  again. 

For  one  moment  she  could  not  but  yield  to  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  whispered;  "  but  Martin,  Martin," 
and  her  mouth  wreathed  into  laughter,  "  it  is  an  even- 
ing party.    You  must  not;  you  must  not." 

He  paused  like  a  man  dying  of  drought  from  whose 
lips  the  cup  of  water  had  been  taken  away. 

"  Party,"  he  cried;  "  what  party?  It  is  you  and  I, 
that  is  all." 

This  was  all  unknown  to  her.  She  had  loved  him, 
the  boy  with  the  extraordinary  eyes,  the  boy  who 
played  so  magnificently,  who  laughed  so  much.  But 
now  there  was  roused  something  more  than  these. 
The  piano-player  was  gone,  he  did  not  laugh,  his  eyes 
had  never  quite  glowed  like  that,  and  there  was  in  his 
face  something  she  had  never  seen  yet.  The  woman 
had  awakened  the  man ;  this  was  his  first  full  moment 
of  consciousness.  And,  like  all  women  for  the  first 
time  face  to  face  with  the  lover  and  the  beloved,  she 
was  afraid.     She  had  not  till  now  seen  his  full  fire. 

"  I  am  frightened,"  she  cried.  *'  What  have  we 
done?" 

But  his  answer  came  back  like  an  echo  to  what  she 
had  not  said,  but  what  was  behind  her  words. 

"  Frightened?"  he  said.  "  Oh,  Stella,  not  of  me,  not 
of  the  real  me?" 

She  gave  a  little  laugh,  still  mysteriously  nervous. 

"  You  were  a  stranger,"  she  said.  "  I  never  saw 
you  before." 

Martin  gave  a  great,  happy  sigh. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  said,  and  the  authentic 
fire  leaped  to  and  fro  between  their  eyes.  "  I  was 
never  this  before.     But  you  are  not  frightened  now?" 


THE    CHALLONERS  269 

This  time  her  eyes  did  not  waver  from  his. 
"  No,  Martin,"  she  said. 

But  there  was  no  more  privacy  possible  here.  Stella 
had  been  quite  right ;  there  was  a  party  going  on,  and 
at  the  moment  a  great  burst  of  applause  signified  the 
end  of  Karl  Rusoff' s  performance.     Stella  started. 

"  There.  I  told  you  so,"  she  said.  "  Now  take  me 
to  my  mother ;   she  will  be  waiting  for  me." 

Martin  frowned. 

"  Cannot  she  wait?"  he  asked.  "  I  too  have  never 
seen  the  real  you  before." 

"  No,  dear,  we  must  go.  There  is  to-morrow,  all 
the  to-morrows." 

"  And  to  think  that  it  has  only  been  yesterday  until 
this  evening,"  he  said.  "  There  is  Lady  Monica,  look- 
ing for  you." 

Lady  Monica  had  a  practised  eye.  She  kept  every- 
thing she  had  in  excellent  practise ;  there  was  nothing 
rusty  about  her. 

"  Stella  dear,  I've  been  looking  for  you,"  she  said. 
"  Are  you  better?  Has  Mr.  Challoner  been  taking  care 
of  you?" 

That  was  sufficient. 

"  Stella  says  I  may,"  said  he. 

Lady  Monica  checked  her  exclamation  of  "  Thank 
God!'  as  being  a  shade  too  business-like. 

"  Ah,  dear  Mr.  Martin,"  she  said.  "  How  nice,  how 
very,  very  nice!  Stella,  my  dearest.  How  secret  you 
have  been.  Come,  darling,  we  must  go.  I  can't  talk 
to  either  of  you  in  this  crowd.  But  how  nice!  We 
shall  see  you  to-morrow  ?  Come  to  lunch,  quite,  quite 
quietly." 


270  THE    CHALLONERS 

Stella  looked  at  him. 

"  Yes,  do,  Martin,"  she  said.  "  I  will  take  you  back 
after  our  skate." 

"  Ah,  I  had  forgotten,"  he  said. 

She  laughed  divinely. 

"  But  I  had  not.  And  you  will  be  kind  to  me,  as  I 
asked  you?"  she  added. 

He  dwelt  on  his  answer. 

"  I  kind — to  you?"  he  said. 


CHAPTER    XII 

It  was  a  March  day  of  glorious  windy  brightness,  a 
day  that  atones  and  amends  with  prodigal,  open-handed 
generosity  for  all  the  fogs  and  chilly  darknesses  of 
autumn  and  winter.  Heavy  rain  had  fallen  during  the 
night  before,  cold,  chilly  rain,  but  an  hour  before  morn- 
ing it  had  ceased,  and  a  great  warm,  boisterous  wind 
came  humming  up  from  the  southwest.  Like  some 
celestial  house-clearer  it  swept  the  clouds  from  the 
face  of  the  sky,  and  an  hour  of  ivory  starlight  and  set- 
ting moon  ushered  in  the  day. 

That  same  wind  had  awakened  Helen  with  the  sound 
of  the  tapping,  struggling  blind  drawn  over  her  open 
window,  and  with  eyes  suffused  with  sleep  she  had 
got  out  of  bed  to  quiet  the  rattling  calico  by  the  simple 
process  of  rolling  it  up.  And  having  rolled  it  up,  she 
stood  for  a  moment  at  the  window,  her  hair  stirred  by 
the  wind,  drinking  in  the  soft  cool  breath  of  the  huge 
night  that  blew  her  night-dress  close  to  her  skin.  The 
clean  smell  of  rain  was  in  the  air,  but  the  sky  was  all 
clear,  and  to  the  east  behind  the  tower  of  Chartries 
church  the  nameless  dove-coloured  hue  of  coming 
dawn  was  beginning  to  make  dim  the  stars.  Then  she 
went  back  to  bed  with  a  vague  but  certain  sense  that 
some  change  had  come — winter  was  over ;  in  her  very 
bones  she  felt  that. 

Gloriously  did  the  morning  fulfil  her  expectations. 
White  fleecy  clouds,  high  in  the  heavens,  bowled  along 

271 


272  THE    CHALLONERS 

the  blue,  their  shadows  racing  beneath  them  across  the 
brown  grass  of  the  downs ;  the  wind,  warm  and  preg- 
nant with  spring,  drove  boisterously  out  of  the  west, 
and  the  sun  flooded  all  that  lived  in  a  bath  of  light. 
Round  the  elms  in  the  church-yard  there  had  been 
wrought  that  yearly  miracle,  that  mist  of  green  leaf 
hovering  round  the  trees,  and  paler  and  more  delicate 
it  hung  round  the  slim  purple-twigged  birches  in  the 
woods  that  climbed  up  the  hillside  beyond  to  Chartries. 
Here  after  breakfast  her  path  lay,  for  she  had  a  parish 
errand  to  an  outlying  hamlet  beyond,  and  with  eye  and 
ear  and  nostril  and  open  mouth  she  breathed  and  was 
bathed  in  the  revivification  of  spring.  That  morning, 
so  it  seemed  to  her,  all  the  birds  in  the  world  sang  to- 
gether,— thrushes  bubbled  with  the  noise  of  chuckling 
water  and  delicious  repeated  phrases  of  melody,  as  if  to 
show,  brave  musicians,  that  the  "  first  fine  careless  rap- 
ture" is  perfectly  easy  to  recapture,  if  you  happen  to 
know  the  way  of  the  thing;  blackbirds  with  liquid 
throat  and  tawny  bill  scudded  through  the  bushes; 
above  swifts  chided  in  swooping  companies,  and  finches 
and  sparrows  poured  out  staccato  notes.  One  bird 
alone  was  silent,  for  the  nightingale  waited  till  sum- 
mer should  come  and  love. 

That  filled  the  ear.  For  the  eye  there  were  blue  dis- 
tances, blue  shadows  of  racing  clouds,  the  sun,  and 
more  near  the  budding  trees,  and  in  the  dingle  below 
the  woods  of  Chartries  a  million  daffodils.  Helen  had 
forgotten  that  they  were  there,  waiting  for  her,  and 
she  came  on  them  suddenly,  and  stood  quite  still  a 
moment  with  a  long  pause  of  pure  and  complete  de- 
light. The  place  was  carpeted  with  them;  they  all 
danced  and  shone  and  sang  together  like  the  morning 


THE    CHALLONERS  273 

stars.     And  as  she  looked  her  eyes  grew  dim  with 
happy  tears. 

"  Dear  God,"  she  said,  "  thank  you  so  much." 
Yes,  indeed,  it  was  spring;  and  as  she  walked  on 
she  repeated  the  word  over  and  over  again  to  herself, 
finding  a  magic  in  it.  It  was  everywhere :  the  sky  and 
the  sun  were  full  of  it,  it  burst  in  those  myriad  blos- 
soms from  the  dark,  wholesome  soil ;  it  was  spring 
that  set  this  good  wind  blowing,  it  bubbled  and 
chuckled  in  the  chalk-stream,  with  its  waving  weeds 
and  bright  glimmering  beds  of  pebbles.  Above  all, 
it  was  in  her  own  heart  on  this  glorious  morning,  till 
she  thought  it  must  almost  burst,  too,  so  overflowing 
was  it  with  sheer,  unreasoning  happiness. 

Indeed,  Martin  had  been  quite  right  when  he  had 
told  Karl  how  happy  she  was,  and  though  she  did  not 
reason  to  herself  about  it,  the  cause  was  abundantly 
clear.  For  the  last  six  months  she  had  lived  at  home, 
through  days  and  weeks  of  ever-recurring  difficulties, 
and  with  each,  as  it  presented  itself,  she  had  dealt 
smilingly,  patiently.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  on 
her  visit  to  Cambridge  that  her  duty  was  clear  and 
obvious,  nothing  striking  nor  picturesque  was  in  the 
least  required,  she  was  neither  going  to  renounce  her 
future  happiness,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  to  throw  all 
else  aside  and  grasp  at  it.  No  heroic  knot-cutting 
measures  of  any  kind  were  indicated,  except  the  quiet, 
unobtrusive  heroism  of  taking  up  again,  quite  simply, 
quietly,  and  naturally,  all  the  straightforward,  familiar 
little  duties  of  her  home  life  which  again  and  again  she 
had  found  so  tedious.  Nor  had  they  been  in  them- 
selves less  tedious.  Only  here  was  the  difference, — 
she  had  ceased  to  look  upon  them  from  any  point  of 


274  THE    CHALLONERS 

view  except  one,  namely,  that  it  was  quite  distinctly 
her  business  to  do  them.  That  she  had  found  to  be 
sufficient;  it  was  enough  day  by  day  to  get  through 
with  them  without  expenditure  of  thought  as  to 
whether  they  were  distasteful  or  not,  and  her  work, 
her  daily  bread,  had  somehow  been  sweet  and  whole- 
some and  nourishing.  Truly,  it,  as  Karl  had  said, 
Martin  had  been  growing  out  of  knowledge,  his  twin 
also  would  be  scarcely  recognisable. 

And  bread,  bread  of  the  soul,  had  come  to  her; 
her  table  had  been  laid  in  the  wilderness,  and  hap- 
piness, royal  inward  happiness  of  a  very  fine  and 
unselfish  sort,  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  things  which 
made  for  unhappiness,  had  blossomed  in  her.  A 
thousand  times  she  had  been  tempted  to  say,  "  It  is 
doing  no  good.  Why  should  I  put  off  what  is  waiting 
for  me  when  my  renunciation  does  not  help  father 
in  any  way?"  But  a  thousand  times  she  had  just  not 
said  it;  and  now,  at  the  end  of  these  difficult  months, 
she  could  without  egoism  look  back  and  see  what 
infinite  good  had  been  done.  That  her  father  should 
in  any  way  alter  his  own  convictions  about  her  mar- 
riage she  had  never  expected;  but  what  had  been 
gained  was  that  he  saw  now,  and  consciously  saw,  that 
she  was  in  the  very  simplest  language  "  being  good." 

But  it  had  been  difficult  enough  for  all  concerned, 
except  perhaps  for  Aunt  Clara,  who  was  scarcely 
capable  of  emotion,  and  often  Helen's  heart  had  bled 
for  her  father.  It  had  been  most  terrible  of  all  when 
Martin  had  joined  the  Roman  Church.  His  letter  to 
his  father — Helen  winced  when  she  thought  of  it  now 
— had  arrived  on  Sunday  morning,  and  he  had  found 
it  on  the  breakfast-table  when  he  had  come  back  from 


THE    CHALLONERS  275 

the  early  celebration.  It  was  a  manly,  straightforward 
letter  enough,  stating  that  he  had  not  yet  gone  over, 
but  had  practically  determined  to.  If  his  father  wished 
he  would  come  down  to  Chartries,  and  talk  it  over 
with  him,  and  give  to  his  advice  and  counsel  the  very 
fullest  possible  consideration.  And  at  the  end  he  ex- 
pressed very  bluntly  and  sincerely,  as  was  his  way,  the 
sorrow  and  the  pain  that  he  knew  the  news  would 
cause  his  father. 

The  sheet  fell  from  his  hand,  and  Helen,  who  was 
making  tea,  looked  up.  She  saw  the  colour  rise  in 
her  father's  face;  the  arteries  in  his  neck  and  temples 
swelled  into  cords,  and  his  eyes  with  pupils  contracted 
to  pin-pricks  looked  for  the  moment  like  the  eyes  of  a 
madman.  Then  he  spoke,  his  voice  vibrating  with 
suppressed  furious  anger. 

"  Martin  is  going  to  join  the  Roman  Church,"  he 
said.  "  From  the  day  he  does  so,  Helen,  never  speak 
to  me  of  him  again.     He  is  dead  to  me,  remember." 

That  was  a  week  before  Christmas,  and  for  more 
than  a  month  after  that  Martin's  name  had  literally 
hardly  crossed  his  father's  lips.  The  boy  had  come 
down  to  stay  with  his  uncle  once,  but  Mr.  Challoner 
had  absolutely  refused  to  see  him.  He  had  even 
wished  Helen  not  to ;  but  on  this  occasion,  for  the  only 
time  during  all  that  long  winter,  she  had  quietly  but 
quite  firmly  disobeyed  him.  It  was  then  first,  too,  as 
one  looking  down  from  barren  rocks  of  a  mountain- 
range,  that  she  saw,  though  still  far  off,  the  harvest 
that  was  ripening  in  these  long,  patient  months  of  her 
living  here  with  her  father.  Before  going  to  Chartries 
she  had  thought  best  to  go  into  his  study  and  tell  him 
that  she  was  doing  so. 


276  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Martin,"  she  said,  wondering 
and  very  nervous  as  to  how  her  father  would  take  it. 
"  And  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  father,  before  I  went,  that 
I  was  going." 

Mr.  Challoner  was  writing  his  sermon,  but  on  her 
words  his  pen  paused ;  then  he  looked  up  at  her. 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  he  said.  "  You  know  my  feeling 
about  it ;  but  it  is  a  thing  in  which  you  must  do  as  you 
think  right.  And,  Helen,"  again  he  paused,  and  his 
eyes  wandered  away  from  her  and  were  bent  on  his 
paper,  "  tell  me,  when  you  come  back,  how  the  lad 
looks,  if  he  seems  well." 

She  came  closer  to  him.  This  was  the  first  sign  he 
had  shown  that  he  recognised  Martin's  existence. 

"  Ah,  father,  come  with  me,"  she  said. 

But  he  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  dear;  no,  dear,"  he  said,  and  went  on  with  his 
work. 

But,  on  this  March  morning  of  windy  brightness, 
what  gave  the  comhle  to  her  happiness  was  the  talk — 
the  first  intimate  one  for  all  these  weeks — which  she 
had  had  with  her  father  the  night  before.  She  had 
gone  to  her  room  as  usual  after  prayers,  but  finding 
there  some  parish-work,  concerning  outdoor  relief, 
which  she  ought  to  have  done  and  taken  to  him  the 
day  before,  she  sat  up  for  nearly  a  couple  of  hours, 
until  she  had  finished  it.  Then  with  the  papers  in  her 
hand  she  went  down  to  his  study. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  father,"  she  said.  "  You  told  me  you 
wanted  these  yesterday,  and  I  absolutely  forgot  to  do 
them.     They  are  finished  now." 

He  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  Helen/'  he  said,  "  it  is  after  twelve.     You 


THE    CHALLONERS  277 

ought  to  have  been  in  bed  long  ago.  Have  you  been 
sitting  up  to  do  them  ?" 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  said. 

He  took  them  from  her. 

"  You  have  been  a  very  good  daughter  to  me,  dear," 
he  said. 

He  paused,  but  Helen  said  nothing,  for  his  tone 
shewed  an  unfinished  sentence.  And  the  pause  was 
long;  it  was  not  at  all  easy  for  him  to  say  what  fol- 
lowed. 

"  And  I  have  been  often  and  often  very  difficult 
and  very  hard  all  these  months,"  he  said.  ''  But  will 
you  do  your  best  to  forget  that?  Will  you  try  to  for- 
give me?" 

She  went  close  to  him,  very  much  moved,  and  laid 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Ah,  don't  cut  me  to  the  heart,"  she  said. 

"  But  promise  me,  if  you  can,"  he  said. 

Yes,  it  was  true;  he  had  often  been  difficult  and 
hard.    And  she  answered  him. 

"  Yes,  dear  father,"  she  said.  "  I  promise  you  that 
with  my  whole  heart.  And  in  turn,  when  May  comes, 
will  you  try  not  to  think  too  hardly  of  me.  I  have 
tried  to  be  good." 

She  sat  down  by  his  side,  looking  rather  wistfully 
at  him. 

"  I  have  been  wanting  to  talk  to  you  often  before 
about  that,"  he  said,  "  so  let  me  say  once  and  for  all 
what  is  in  my  mind.  I  disagree  with  you,  as  you 
know,  vitally,  essentially,  and  I  believe  that  God  tells 
me  to  disagree.  But  now  I  believe  also,  dear, — and 
this  your  goodness  and  your  sweet  patience  all  these 


278  THE    CHALLONERS 

months  has  taught  me, — that  God  tells  you  to  do  as 
you  are  going  to.  How  that  is  I  do  not  understand. 
Perhaps  that  doesn't  matter  so  much  as  I  used  to 
think.  But  He  fulfils  Himself  in  many  ways.  And 
there,  too,  I  have  very  often  thought  that  He  had  to 
fulfil  Himself  in  my  way.  It  is  you  who  have  made 
me  see  that,  I  think." 

Helen  raised  shining  eyes  to  his. 

"  You  have  made  me  very  happy,"  she  said. 

"And  what  have  you  done  for  me?  There  were 
certain  days,  dear,  during  this  winter  which  I  do  not 
see  how  I  could  have  got  through  without  you." 

Here  was  an  opportunity  for  which  Helen  had  often 
sought. 

"Martin?"  she  asked.  "Oh,  father,  I  wonder  if 
you  want  Martin  as  much  as  I  do." 

The  strength  and  the  tenderness  died  out  of  his  face, 
leaving  it  both  helpless  and  hard. 

"  I  can't  see  him,"  he  said,  quickly ;  "  I  dare  not. 
Some  day,  perhaps;  but  if  I  saw  him  now  I  should 
say — I  could  not,  I  know,  help  saying — what  I  feel. 
If  that  would  do  any  good,  I  would  say  it ;  but  it  would 
do  none.  I  should  only — I  should  only  frighten  him," 
he  said,  with  an  accent  infinitely  pathetic. 

She  left  him  then  without  more  words,  for  all  this 
winter  she  had  been  learning  every  day  and  all  day 
long  the  divine  and  human  gospel  of  patience  in  deal- 
ing with  people, — the  patience  that  teaches  us  not  to 
pull  buds  open,  however  desirable  it  may  be  that  the 
flower  should  unfold,  that  is  content  to  do  its  best 
with  them,  and  wait  for  results  without  the  desire 
even  that  they  should  come  quickly.    Till  this  evening, 


THE    CHALLONERS  279 

as  has  been  said,  Martin's  name  had  scarcely  been 
mentioned  by  his  father,  and  it  was  something,  after 
this  bitterness  of  long  silence,  that  he  should  be  able  to 
say  "  Not  yet,  not  now."  Pity  also,  pity  with  hands  of 
healing,  had  entered  at  last  into  that  stern,  upright, 
God-fearing  soul,  filtering  its  way  like  water  through 
dry  and  stony  soil ;  a  very  exiguous  trickle  it  might  be, 
but  cool,  liquid,  refreshing.  How  hardly  it  had  won 
its  way  there  Helen  but  guessed  dimly,  he  alone  knew. 
For  day  had  succeeded  day,  and  week  week,  and  all 
day  and  all  week  he  had  wrestled  blindly,  hopelessly 
with  the  misery  that  Martin  had  brought  on  him,  un- 
able for  all  his  efforts  to  find  any  possible  justifying 
cause  for  what  he  had  done,  which  seemed  to  him  as 
wanton  and  as  wicked  as  violent  crime.  To  his  Puri- 
tan mind,  Martin's  reason, — namely,  the  craving  for 
and  the  necessity  of  beauty  and  poetry  in  religion  was 
as  unintelligible  as  a  page  in  an  unknow^n  language; 
not  knowing  at  all  what  that  craving  meant,  any  more 
than  he  knew  what  homicidal  mania  meant  to  a  maniac, 
he  could  not  in  any  degree  whatever  feel  or  appreciate 
its  force.  And  for  the  sake  of  this  his  son  had  left  the 
mother-church,  and  embraced  the  heresies,  the  abomi- 
nations, the  idolatries  of  Rome.  Such  was  his  sober, 
literal  view :  the  Roman  Church  was  idolatrous,  and 
for  idolaters  was  the  doom  appointed,  revealed  by  God, 
believed  by  him.     And  there  stood  Martin. 

For  weeks  nothing  had  come  to  sweeten  the  bitter- 
ness of  these  dark  waters;  his  suffering  was  as  unin- 
telligible to  him  as  is  pain  to  a  dumb  animal ;  he 
could  not  guess  what  it  could  possibly  mean.  That 
fierce  anguish,  like  a  flame,  had  burned  up  for  a  time 
in  its  withering  breath  all  human  affection;    he  had 


280  THE    CHALLONERS 

hated  Martin  for  what  he  had  done.  Shocking  as  that 
was,  he  knew  it  to  be  true,  and  his  hate  seemed  some- 
how justified.  There  were  things,  there  were  actions 
and  passions  which  he  was  bound  to  hate ;  and  so  fiUed 
was  he  witli  this  conviction,  that  human  affection, 
human  love  could  find  at  first  no  place  in  his  mind ;  it 
was  turned  out,  evicted.  But  now,  like  a  dog  beaten 
and  driven  from  the  house,  it  was  beginning,  so  Helen 
thought,  to  creep  noiselessly,  stealthily  homeward 
again.  So  she  was  content;  she  did  not  even  want 
to  hurry  it. 

And  this  morning  spring  was  here,  too,  and  the 
daffodils  danced. 

From  the  dance  of  daffodils  the  slope  rose  steeply 
upward  through  the  hanging  woods  of  Chartries,  and 
her  path  lay  by  the  bushes  in  which  last  summer 
Frank  had  found  the  trapped  hare.  Here,  as  always, 
she  Avent  slowly,  telling  over  in  her  mind,  like  the 
beads  of  a  rosary,  the  history  of  those  hours.  Then 
raising  her  eyes,  she  saw  him,  Frank,  standing  a  little 
way  up  the  path,  looking  at  her. 

Involuntarily  her  heart  leaped  to  him,  and,  holding 
out  both  hands,  she  quickened  her  step,  as  if  running  to 
him.  That  first  movement  she  could  no  more  help 
than  she  could  help  the  fresh  blood  springing  to  her 
cheeks.  But  at  once  almost  she  recollected  herself  and 
paused. 

"  Ah,  Frank,"  she  cried,  "  you  shouldn't  have  come 
here.     You  know  you  shouldn't." 

He  came  no  nearer. 

"  No,  my  darling,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  couldn't  help  it- 
It  is  not  your  fault ;  you  have  not  broken  your  promise. 


THE    CHALLONERS  281 

I  only  had  to  see  you,  just  see  you.  I  think  it  was  the 
spring  that  made  me  do  it.  I  am  with  your  uncle  for 
just  one  night.  See,  there  is  this  for  you  from  Mar- 
tin." 

He  held  out  a  note  for  her,  standing  a  little  aside, 
so  that  the  path  was  clear  for  her  to  pass  on  her  way. 
But,  as  their  fingers  met,  she  lingered  and  hung  on 
her  step,  still  not  looking  at  him.  She  tried,  she  tried 
her  best  to  pass  on,  but  she  could  not ;  her  eyelids  swept 
upward  and  she  looked  at  him.  Then  which  of  them 
moved  first  neither  knew,  but  next  moment  his  arms 
were  round  her,  and  he  kissed  her.  And,  alas!  her 
struggle  to  get  free  was  very  faint;  her  tongue  pro- 
tested, but  not  very  earnestly. 

"  Ah,  let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  it  said. 

"  I  can't.     Helen,  it  was  here  that " 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  I  come  here  every  day.  I 
knew  I  should  meet  you  here  some  day.  And  this  of 
all  days,  the  first  of  spring.  Oh,  Frank,  let  me  go. 
I  love  you:  is  not  that  enough?  And  it  is  not  for 
long  now." 

"  No,  my  darling,  it  is  not  long  now." 

"  And — and  it  has  been  so  long.  And  I  have 
wanted  you  so  much." 

She  disengaged  herself  quietly  from  his  arms,  but 
in  a  way  that  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  hold  her. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said.  "  You  ought  never  to  have 
come.  And — oh,  my  darling — I  thank  you  so  for 
coming." 

For  one  infinitesimal  moment  she  looked  at  him 
again,  then  with  her  quick,  light  step  she  went  on 
up  the  path  with  Martin's  letter  in  her  hand  and  never 
looked  back.     She  did  not  pause  till  she  reached  the 


282  THE    CHALLONERS 

top  of  the  wood,  but  as  she  walked  she  Hstened  for 
and  longed  for,  and  yet  dreaded,  to  hear  footsteps 
behind.  But  none  came,  she  had  made  her  meaning 
too  clear  for  that  (and  how  she  wished  she  had  been 
less  explicit),  and  having  arrived  at  the  top,  she 
slackened  her  pace  and  opened  Martin's  letter.  It  was 
very  short,  a  couple  of  lines  only,  announcing  his  en- 
gagement to  Stella  and  asking  her  to  tell  his  father. 
And  with  that  spring  was  complete. 

Upward  again  lay  her  path ;  no  more  among 
trees  and  sheltered  places,  but  high  over  the  broad 
swell  of  the  short-turfed  downs,  where  shadows  of 
clouds  ran  glorious  races.  Something  in  the  huge 
view  and  the  large  sky  chimed  in  wonderful  harmony 
to  the  girl's  mood;  all  was  so  big,  so  untainted,  so 
full  of  light.  Beneath  her  foot  the  dead  autumn  turf 
still  stretched  in  brown  tufts  and  patches,  but  spring- 
ing up  in  between  were  the  myriad  shoots  of  the  young 
grass,  and  even  since  yesterday,  she  thought,  the  tone 
of  the  colour  was  changed.  Till  to-day  all  had  been 
grey  and  brown,  all  still  pointed  backward,  winter- 
wards  ;  but  this  morning  it  was  different,  and  the  mil- 
lion sprouting  lives  shouted,  "  Look  forward,  look  for- 
ward !  For,  lo,  the  winter  is  past  and  the  time  of  the 
singing-bird  has  come."  "  Ah,  song  of  songs,"  she 
thought,  "  indeed  it  is  so." 

Martin !  There  were  no  words  into  which  she  could 
put  what  she  felt,  any  more  than  the  pervading  sun- 
hght  could  be  put  into  words.  It  was  there,  a  great, 
huge,  exultant  presence  that  flooded  everything.  Ah, 
the  beloved  twin!  Why,  it  was  only  a  few  years  ago 
that  he  was  in  Eton  jackets  and  broad  white  collars 
and  sang  treble.     And  she?     Well,  yes,  she  was  in 


THE    CHALLONERS  283 

short  frocks  about  the  same  time.  Yet  had  not  she, 
half  an  hour  ago,  down  in  the  wood  below  her,  where 
the  young  leaves  hung  like  a  green  mist  around  the 
purple  branches  of  the  birch,  felt  a  loving  arm  round 
her  and  kisses  on  her  face.  Oh,  it  was  very  wrong 
of  Frank.  No,  not  wrong  of  him, — he  would  have 
stood  aside,  he  did  stand  aside  to  let  her  pass.  It 
was  very  wrong  of  her.  But  at  that  moment  she  could 
not  pass  by, — it  was  as  if  her  power  of  movement  had 
been  paralysed.  Yet  she  was  not  in  the  least  degree 
ashamed  of  herself,  and  she  looked  forward  with  a  cer- 
tain secret  glee  to  telling  her  father, — for  that  had  to 
be  done, — for  so  by  speaking  of  it  she  would  live  it 
over  again.  "  No,  that  was  not  all,"  she  said  to  herself, 
rehearsing  question  and  answer,  "  He  kissed  me." 

Sunlight,  and  larks  invisible,  and  the  shadows  of 
clouds  that  coursed  over  the  downs.  And  some  dis- 
tance off  a  tall  figure,  moving  towards  her  rapidly,  a 
figure  she  easily  recognised.  They  came  nearer  and 
met.  Her  hat  was  in  her  hand,  her  hair  tossed  over 
her  forehead,  and  there  was  spring  and  the  sure  prom- 
ise of  summer  in  her  face.  And  in  her  father's,  too, 
there  was  something  of  that  infused  joy.  His  hand 
held  a  little  bunch  of  primroses,  which  he  had  plucked 
as  he  walked. 

They  met  without  words,  but  with  smiles,  the  un- 
conscious smile  that  the  morning  had  made. 

"  Well,  Helen  ?"  said  he.  "  You  look,  indeed  you 
look  like  the  morning." 

He  came  close  to  her  and  with  his  neat  precision 
put  the  primroses  into  her  hat. 

"  You  ought  to  pin  them,"  he  said.  "  They  will 
fall  out." 


284  THE    CHALLONERS 

She  laughed. 

"  Ah,  nothing  can  fall  out  to-day,"  she  said.  "  Don't 
you  feel  it,  father?  Spring,  spring — and — oh,  the 
daffodils.    And  I  have  news." 

Then  her  face  sobered  suddenly. 

"  Two  pieces  of  news,"  she  said,  smiling  again,  un- 
able not  to  be  gay.  "  The  first  is  of  Martin :  he  is 
engaged  to  be  married.  He  asked  me  to  tell  you. 
Stella  Plympton,  whom  you  met  here.  He  wrote  me 
just  a  line,  asking  me  to  tell  you." 

Her  instinct  was  right  to  repeat  that.  Sharp  as  a 
knife,  a  father's  jealousy  had  pierced  him.  He  should 
have  been  told  first;  whatever  his  disagreements  with 
Martin,  he,  his  father,  ought  to  have  been  told  first. 
But  that  passed  in  a  moment. 

"  Martin?"  he  said,  gently.     "  The  boy?" 

"  Yes ;  I  thought  of  it  like  that.  But  he  is  really — 
oh,  ever  so  old.    As  old  as  I  am." 

Mr.  Challoner's  face  relaxed. 

"I  had  forgotten,"  he  said;  "an  immense  age. 
What  next,  Helen?" 

She  looked  up  at  him. 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?"  she  asked,  feeling 
suddenly  chilly  and  disappointed. 

"  You  think  I  am  hard,  Helen,"  he  said.  "  I  try 
to  be.    But  what  next  ?" 

Yes,  it  was  chilly  on  these  upland  downs.  She  put 
her  hat  on. 

"  Just  this,"  she  said.  "  I  met  Frank  half  an  hour 
ago.  He  gave  me  Martin's  note.  I  did  not  expect 
to  see  him.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned  it  was  quite 
accidental.  I  had  no  idea  he  was  here.  I  had  promised 
you  not  to  see  him.     That  I  could  not  help." 


THE    CHALLONERS  285 

She  stopped,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  went  on. 

"  I  suppose  I  could  have  helped  the  rest,"  she  said. 
"  I  suppose  it  was  that  I  did  not  choose  to  help  it.  He 
stood  aside  for  me  to  pass.  But — ^but  I  did  not  pass. 
I  went  to  him.  I  let  him  kiss  me.  He  stood  there 
with  me.  I  thought  I  could  not  help  it.  Indeed,  I 
thought  that." 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Challoner's  hardness,  his  in- 
voluntary condemnation  of  weakness  of  any  sort,  of 
failure  to  keep  a  promise,  returned  to  him,  mixed  with 
a  very  ugly  thing,  suspicion. 

"  And  is  this  the  first  time  you  have  seen  or  spoken 
to  him  or  had  any  communication  with  him?"  he 
asked. 

Helen  raised  her  eyes  to  him  in  quiet  surprise.  No 
trace  of  resentment  or  sense  of  injustice  was  in  her 
voice. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  she  said.  "  I  should  have  told 
you  otherwise." 

He  looked  at  the  sweet,  patient  face,  struggling  for 
a  moment  with  this  worse  self  of  his,  which  yet  was  so 
upright,  so  devoted. 

"  I  know  you  would,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  don't 
know  why  I  asked  you  that." 

Helen  laughed. 

"  Nor  do  I,"  she  said. 

"  You  and  he  have  been  very  patient,  Helen,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,  till  this  morning  I  think  we  have,"  she  said. 
"  But  to-day,  perhaps,  the  spring  was  too  strong  for 
us  both.  Is  it  not  in  your  blood  this  morning,  father? 
It  is  in  mine." 

He  smiled  at  her  gravely. 


286  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  And  a  very  suitable  thing,"  he  said.  "  And  sum- 
mer comes  next  for  you.     For  you  and  Martin." 

"  Yes,  Martin  too,"  she  said,  with  an  appeal  in  her 
eyes.  "  Oh,  father,  can't  we  be  all  happy  together 
again?    We  used  to  be." 

Mr.  Challoner  stood  silent  a  moment,  a  sort  of 
aching  longing  for  all  he  had  always  missed  in  Mar- 
tin and  a  dim,  bitter  regret  for  all  his  own  missed 
opportunities  of  making  the  most  of  the  human 
relation  between  himself  and  his  son  rising  suddenly 
within  him.  And  he  spoke  with  a  terrible  quiet  sin- 
cerity. 

"  I  don't  think  Martin  used  ever  to  be  happy  with 
me,"  he  said.  "  Once  he  told  me  he  was  not  happy 
at  home.  I  don't  think  that  he  ever  was.  It  was  per- 
haps the  fault  of  both  of  us,  but  it  was  certainly  mine. 
I  should  have  done  somehow  differently.  I  think  we 
never  understood  each  other.  Nor  can  I  understand 
him  now.  It  is  sad.  I  cannot  reconcile  what  he  has 
done " 

He  broke  off  again. 

"  There,  dear,  you  must  be  getting  on  your  way," 
he  said,  "  and  I  must  be  getting  home." 

But  she  detained  him  a  moment  more. 

"Won't  you  give  me  a  little  hope?"  she  said.  "I 
thought  last  night  that  perhaps,  perhaps  soon — and 
this  news  this  morning " 

But  her  father  disengaged  her  hand. 

"  I  shall,  of  course,  write  to  him,"  he  said,  "  and 
congratulate  him.  She  is  a  very  charming  girl.  I 
think  Martin  is  most  fortunate." 

"  Martin  is  very  charming,  too,  remember,"  said 
she. 


THE    CHALLONERS  287 

Mr.  Challoner  walked  swiftly  homewards  after 
Helen  had  left  him,  feeling  strangely  and  deeply 
moved  by  the  news.  He  felt  somehow  that  his  children 
were  his  children  no  longer;  all  the  responsibility  for 
them  had  passed  into  other  hands,  and  they  them- 
selves, light-heartedly,  eagerly,  were  now  taking  on 
themselves  the  responsibility  for  others.  He  had 
thought  of  them  always  as  a  boy  and  a  girl,  each  bound 
to  obedience  to  his  will,  dependent  on  him,  without 
any  real,  individual  existence  of  their  own.  But  within 
the  last  year  first  one  and  now  the  other  was  passing 
out  of  his  reach.  Helen  first  and  then  Martin  had 
acted  for  themselves  in  direct  defiance  not  only  of 
his  wish,  but  of  that  which  was  the  mainspring  and 
motive  of  his  life.  She,  it  is  true,  by  these  months 
of  quiet,  normal  life  at  home  had  made  a  great  change 
in  him;  her  disobedience  to  him  personally  had  van- 
ished from  his  mind,  and,  as  he  had  told  her  last  night, 
though  he  believed  no  less  strongly  than  before  that 
his  conviction  with  regard  to  her  marriage  was  the 
will  of  God  for  him,  he  believed  also,  though  he  could 
not  understand  how,  that  she,  too,  was  acting  con- 
sonantly to  that  same  will.  But  with  regard  to  Martin, 
however  he  looked  at  his  conduct,  or  whatever  possible 
interpretation  he  tried  to  put  on  it,  he  could  not  see 
light.  He  was  trivial,  superficial,  not  in  earnest  about 
religious  matters,  just  as  he  had  been  in  the  rest  of 
his  education.  Nothing,  except  music,  which  Mr. 
Challoner  could  not  frankly  bring  himself  to  regard  as 
anything  but  a  mere  aesthetic  fringe,  a  mere  ornament 
of  life,  had  ever  touched  him  deeply.  He  had  no  depth, 
no  seriousness.  And  now  that  boy,  that  child,  was 
going  to  be  married,  to  take  upon  himself  with  the 


288  THE    CHALLONERS 

same  light-hearted  insouciance  all  the  responsibilities 
of  a  husband  and  a  father. 

How  strange  that  they  were  twins !  Helen  develop- 
ing every  day  in  patience,  dutifulness,  love ;  and  Martin, 
still  thoughtless,  bent  only  on  the  personal  gratification 
of  his  musical  tastes,  and  willing,  so  Mr.  Challoner 
bitterly  put  it  to  himself,  to  leave  the  English  Church, 
the  mother  of  his  faith,  for  the  sake  of  a  hymn-tune ! 
He  would  write  to  him,  as  he  had  said,  but  even  now 
he  could  not  see  him.  For  he  knew  himself  well,  and 
recognised,  though  he  scarcely  wished  to  cure  his  own 
impatience,  his  anger  at  one  who  seemed  to  him  to 
be  going  wrong  wilfully.  On  a  point  like  this  he  could 
make  no  concession,  for  any  concession  implied  a  fail- 
ure of  loyalty  on  his  own  part  to  his  creed. 

He  had  by  this  time  entered  the  woods  round 
Chartries,  where  the  path  was  wet  and  a  little  slippery 
under  the  trees,  causing  him  to  abate  the  briskness 
of  his  pace.  How  different,  how  utterly  different 
Helen  had  proved  herself.  If  only  she  could  see  the 
question  of  her  marriage  as  he  saw  it,  how  would  his 
whole  heart  rise  up  in  thankfulness.  For  though  he 
admitted  here  that  both  he  and  she  might  be  right, 
he  was  still  full  of  disquietude  and  anxiety  about  it. 
Then  suddenly,  turning  a  corner,  he  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  her  lover. 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke.  To  Frank  it  seemed 
that  if  words  even  of  commonplace  greeting  were  to 
pass  between  them  it  must  be  for  Mr.  Challoner  to 
make  the  beginning,  while  to  the  elder  man  the  sudden 
shock  of  seeing  him  inevitably  awakened  again,  for 
the  moment,  the  horror  and  bitterness  of  their  last  inter- 
view.    Under  that  his   mouth   was   compressed   and 


THE    CHALLONERS  289 

tightened,  a  gleam  almost  of  elemental  enmity  shone  in 
his  eyes,  and  it  seemed  to  himself  that  he  would  pass 
by  Frank  with  averted  head.  But  then  over  that, 
veiling  and  softening  it,  there  rose  all  that  he  had  been 
learning  this  winter,  all  that  Helen  had  been  teaching 
him,  and  as  he  came  close  to  Frank  he  paused.  Then, 
with  an  effort  that  cost  the  proud  man  something, 
he  put  his  lesson  into  practice,  and  held  out  his  hand. 
And  the  strength  and  the  big  loveableness  of  the  man 
was  offered  with  it,  whole-heartedly. 

"  We  shook  hands  last  time  we  met.  Lord  York- 
shire," he  said.  "  Will  you  not  let  me  shake  hands 
with  you  again?" 

That  done,  that  effort  made,  the  rest  was  easier,  for 
all  that  was  generous  and  sympathetic  in  Frank  re- 
sponded. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  simply.  "  And  I  am  not 
exaggerating,  Mr.  Challoner,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
know  nothing  in  the  world  that  could  have  happened 
to  me  which  could  give  me  so  much  pleasure  as  this." 

Mr.  Challoner  still  retained  his  hand. 

"  Do  you  know,  you  are  a  very  good  fellow  ?"  he 
said.  "  You  are  very  generous  to  me.  So  has  Helen 
been.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  she  has  been  to  me  all 
this  winter.  And  I  thank  you  very  much  for  letting 
her  be  with  me,  for  not  urging  her  otherwise.  You 
have  made  it  all  as  easy  for  her  as  you  can.  You 
have  been  very  unselfish,  both  of  you.  And  I  have 
been  making  it  very  difficult  for  her." 

Frank  was  a  good  deal  moved.  There  was  a  very 
noble  and  a  pathetic  sincerity  about  this. 

''  I  think  you  wrong  yourself,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
sure  you   wrong  yourself.     We  have  all  tried  to — 

19 


290  THE    CHALLONERS 

well,  to  do  our  best.  And  we  all  three  of  us  know 
that." 

But  Mr.  Challoner  had  more  to  say. 

"  I  ask  your  forgiveness,"  he  said,  simply,  and  his 
voice  trembled  a  little. 

"  Ah,  don't  do  that,"  said  Frank. 

They  stood  there  together  a  moment  longer,  under 
the  flecked  sunlight  filtering  through  the  trees,  sud- 
denly brought  close  again,  just  as  they  had  been  in 
that  dreadful  hour  when  Helen's  weakness  made  them 
forget  all  else.  But  now  the  reconciliation  went  far 
deeper  than  it  had  gone  before.  Then  they  had  joined 
hands  in  ministering  to  the  physical  suffering  of  one 
they  both  loved,  but  now  they  joined  hands  over  an 
appreciation  not  of  weakness  but  of  strength.  The 
bond  between  them  was  no  longer  a  thing  that  could 
easily  break.  Poles  apart  as  they  still  were,  that  golden 
thread  could  scarcely  be  snapped. 

"  I  met  Helen  just  now,"  said  Mr.  Challoner  at 
length.  "  She  told  me  she  had  seen  you,  dear  girl. 
She  told  me  also  the  news  from  my  son.  Are  you 
busy?    Will  you  walk  with  me  a  little  way?" 

Frank  turned  at  once,  and  they  went  on  down  the 
steep  path  towards  the  rectory. 

"  Have  you  seen  Martin  lately  ?"  asked  his  father. 

"  Yes ;    I  see  him  constantly  in  London." 

"  Then  can  you  tell  me  about  him  ?  What  is  he  ? 
That  is  the  thing  I  puzzle  and  pray  over.  He  joined 
the  Roman  Church,  as  you  know,  at  Christmas.  I 
don't  think  anything  ever  pained  me  more.  But  I 
should  be  very  glad  to  know  if  he  is  in  earnest  about 
it.  Or  does  he  take  it  as  he  takes  everything  else? 
Do  you  understand  it?" 


THE    CHALLONERS  291 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  said  Frank,  and  paused  a  mo- 
ment. ''  It  is  this.  Martin  demands  beauty  in  all  that 
is  real  to  him.  That  is  the  ruling  instinct  in  his  nature. 
And,  in  matters  of  religion,  the  Roman  Church  seemed 
to  him  to  supply  that  more  than  the  church  he  left." 

"And  it  was  for  that  he  threw  it  over?"  said  Mr. 
Challoner.     "  And  without  regret  or  struggle  even?" 

"  He  regretted  very  sincerely  the  pain  it  would  give 
you,"  said  Frank. 

Mr.  Challoner  waved  this  aside. 

"  That  does  not  matter,"  he  said.  "  But  otherwise 
without  a  regret?" 

Frank  let  his  silence  unmistakably  answer  that  be- 
fore he  went  on. 

"  I  know  you  will  excuse  me,"  he  said,  "  but  I  don't 
think  you  quite  realise  what  Martin  is  or  how  the 
artistic  instincts  dominate  him.  Till  he  fell  in  love,  I 
don't  think  he  ever  had  any  very  poignant  emotion 
apart  from  them." 

Mr.  Challoner's  face  got  even  more  grave. 

"  Simply,  then,"  he  said,  "  he  puts  them  above  the 
love  of  God.  I  do  not  understand  how  a  Christian 
can  do  that.  And  I  do  not  want  to  understand  it," 
he  added. 

They  had  reached  the  rectory,  and  Mr.  Challoner 
paused  on  the  terrace  walk. 

"  Is  he  a  good  boy?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

"  Morally?    Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  asked  his  father. 

"  Because  I  know  his  opinion  about  immorality. 
He  feels  very  strongly  that  it  must  l)lunt  the  artistic 
sense." 

Mr.  Challoner  winced  as  if  in  sudden  pain. 


292  THE    CHALLONERS 

"Ah,"  he  cried,  "is  that  all?  Dear  God,  is  that 
all?" 

"  The  result  in  the  way  of  conduct  is  identical," 
said  Frank,  quietly. 

"  Yes,  yes;  but  are  we  not  taught  that  works  with- 
out faith  are  dead  ?  Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon ;  indeed  I 
do,  my  dear  fellow.  I  spoke  without  thinking.  I 
was  thinking  only  of  my  poor  Martin.  Pray,  forgive 
me.    And  is  he  happy,  do  you  think?" 

"  Yes,  quite  extraordinarily  happy.  He  has  fallen  in 
love,  too,  with  the  same  white  ardour  that  he  brings 
to  everything  which  appeals  to  him." 

Mr.  Challoner  considered  this  a  moment,  and  then 
faced  Frank. 

"  I  want  your  opinion.  Lord  Yorkshire,"  he  said. 
"  Do  you  think  that  any  good  purpose  would  be  served 
by  my  seeing  Martin?  I  ask  you  for  your  candid 
opinion — whatever  it  is  or  implies." 

"  I  think  it  depends  entirely  on  yourself,"  said 
Frank. 

"  You  mean, — ah,  pray  tell  me  quite  straight  out. 
I  shall  be  very  grateful." 

Frank  looked  at  him  with  real  pity.  What  he  was 
going  to  say  seemed  very  cruel,  but  it  seemed  true. 

"  I  mean  this,  Mr.  Challoner,"  he  said,  "  that  if  you 
are  quite  certain  that  the  sight  of  Martin,  or  the  pos- 
sible issues  into  which  talk  may  lead  you,  will  not 
again  embitter  you  against  him,  you  had  far  better  see 
him.  Why  not?  There  is  all  to  be  gained.  But  if 
your  reconciliation  cannot  be  complete,  if  there  is  a 
chance  of  your  getting  angry  with  him,  and — frighten- 
ing him — you  had  better  not.  You  asked  me  to  tell  you 
straight." 


THE   CHALLONERS  293 

"You  think  he  is  afraid  of  me?  Has  he  told 
you?" 

"  I  cannot  help  knowing  it.  If  he  has  told  me, 
you  must  take  my  word  for  it  that  he  has  not  told 
me  in  any  disloyal  way.  And  if  I  have  hurt  you,  I  am 
very  sorry." 

"  No,  I  thank  you  for  telling  me,"  said  Mr.  Chal- 
loner.  "  I  think  you  are  right.  I  am  afraid  it  is  better 
I  should  not  see  him  yet." 

He  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  a  great  deal  to  learn  yet,"  he 
said.  "  I  must  take  myself  in  hand.  But  I  dream 
about  him,  Lord  Yorkshire,  so  often.  And  always 
almost  in  my  dreams  I  say  things  to  him  that  frighten 
him.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  we  are  great  friends. 
Those  are  beautiful  nights,  and  I  thank  God  for  them. 
I  so  long  to  see  his  dear  face  again." 

"  Those  beautiful  nights  must  find  fulfilment  in 
many  beautiful  days,"  said  Frank. 

"  Yes ;  I  hope  that  it  is  still  possible.  He  was  such 
a  bright  little  fellow  when  he  was  small.  Always 
quick,  always  laughing.  I  had  many  plans  for  him.  I 
think  all  my  life  I  have  been  rather  too  ready  to  push 
other  people  into  places  I  think  suitable." 

They  had  come  to  the  far  end  of  the  terrace  again, 
when  from  inside  the  vicarage  the  gong  sounded  for 
lunch.  Frank's  back  was  towards  the  house,  but  the 
vicar,  looking  up,  saw  Helen,  still  hatless,  coming  to- 
wards them  across  the  lawn.  And  all  the  happiness  of 
the  morning,  when  she  saw  these  two  together,  all  the 
spirit  of  spring,  quivered  and  concentrated  itself  into 
one  rose-coloured  point  of  joy.     That  was  the  best 


294  THE    CHALLONERS 

moment  to  her  in  all  the  days  of  spring  that  were  yet 
to  come. 

"  You  will  stay  to  lunch,  Lord  Yorkshire?"  said  he. 

"  Thanks,  so  much ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  ought  to  get 
back  to  Chartries.    I  said  I  would  be  back." 

Mr.  Challoner  waited  till  Helen  was  close  to  them. 

"  Perhaps  if  Helen  adds  her  voice  to  mine,"  he  said. 

He  turned  quickly  and  saw  her.  And  there  was  no 
need  of  words,  but  once  more  the  three  stood  together, 
hands  clasped.  This  time  the  vicar  did  not  go  back 
alone  to  his  empty  room. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

Martin  was  seated  alone  with  Stella  in  the  draw- 
ing-room of  her  mother's  house,  eating  muffins, 
thoughtfully  but  rather  rapidly,  while  she  poured 
out  tea. 

"  Fancy,"  he  said,  "  it  is  only  a  week  ago  since — 
since  the  party  at  Lady  Sunningdale's,  since  I  knew." 

"  Knew  what  ?"  asked  Stella,  quite  unnecessarily. 

"  Ah,  I  only  know  one  thing  now.  I  think  I  have 
forgotten  everything  else." 

"  Say  it  then,"  said  she. 

"That  I  love  you?  Are  you  not  tired  of  hearing 
me  say  that  yet?" 

She  smiled,  brought  him  his  tea,  and  sat  on  the 
arm  of  his  chair. 

"  I  can't  believe  that  a  woman  can  ever  be  tired  of 
hearing  that,  if  the  right  man  says  it.  Oh,  Martin, 
how  lucky  it  was  you,  and  that  it  was  I !" 

Martin  put  his  teacup  down,  having  drunk  with 
amazing  speed. 

"  Why,  who  else  could  it  have  been?"  he  said;  "  how 
could  it  have  been  otherwise?" 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  Yet  you  didn't  know,  as  you 
call  it,  for  a  long  time.  Supposing  you  had  gone  on  not 
knowing?" 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  looking  at  her,  his  black 
eyes  shining  in  the  firelight. 

"  And  when  I  did  know,  I  frightened  you,"  he  said. 

295 


296  THE   CHALLONERS 

"  Yes,  a  little.  But  I  loved  it.  You  see,  I  had  never 
seen  you  really  in  earnest  before,  except  when  you 
wrere  playing.  You  always  put  everything  you  had  or 
were  into  that." 

"  I  know.  That  is  what  Karl  Rusoff  told  me.  He 
told  me  to  experience  all  I  could,  because  it  would  all 
go  to  make  me  play.  He  calls  it  spiritual  alchemy,  like 
when  you  put  a  plant  in  the  earth  and  water  it,  the 
earth  and  the  water  are  somehow  turned  into  the  blos- 
som of  that  plant  while  another  plant  would  turn  them 
into  a  different  flower.  In  fact,  darling,  you  are  going 
to  come  out  of  the  ends  of  my  fingers,  whereas  if  I 
were  a  great  Greek  scholar  you  would  become  iambics." 

He  looked  at  her  and  his  smile  deepened  into  gravity. 

"  Oh,  Stella,  Stella,"  he  said,  "  did  the  world  ever 
hold  anything  like  you?" 

She  leaned  back  till  her  face  was  close  to  his  and  put 
her  arm  round  his  neck. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  do  that  with  me !''  she  said,  "  absorb 
me,  let  me  become  part  of  you.  Indeed,  I  want  no 
other  existence  at  all.  Do  you  know  the  Persian 
legend,  how  the  lover  knocked  at  the  door  of  his  be- 
loved, and  the  beloved  said,  '  Who  is  that  ?'  and  he 
replied,  'It  is  I.'  And  the  one  inside  said,  '  There  is 
not  room  for  two.'  Then  he  went  away  again,  and 
came  back  after  a  year,  and  knocked  again.  And  again 
from  inside  the  voice  said,  '  Who  is  that  ?'  But  this 
time  he  said,  '  It  is  thou.'  So  the  door  was  opened 
and  he  went  in." 

"  That  is  beautiful,"  said  Martin.  "  But,  my  word, 
fancy  being  able  to  become  music.  And  suppose  one 
happened  to  become  a  song  by  Gounod.  Only  that  isn't 
music,"  he  added. 


THE   CHALLONERS  297 

Stella  felt  somehow  suddenly  chilled. 

"  Promise  me  I  shan't  become  a  song  by  Gounod," 
she  said. 

Martin  looked  at  her  in  silence  a  moment.  She  had 
risen  rather  abruptly  from  her  position  and  was  again 
sitting  upright  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"And  what  do  I  become?"  he  asked.  "What  do 
you  make  of  me?    It  is  thou,  remember." 

Something  that  for  the  last  three  days  had  hung 
mist-like  in  Stella's  mind  suddenly  congealed,  crystal- 
lised, became  definite. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  become  anything,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  want  you  to  Be.  I  want  you  to  be  entirely 
yourself.  I  want  you  to  get  below  your  own  surface, 
to  dive  into  yourself,  to  find  pearls.  And  then  to  let 
me  wear  them." 

"  You  mean  I  am  shallow  ?" 

"  No,  dear,  I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind.  But,  oh, 
Martin,  don't  misunderstand  me.  All  you  have  got 
from  life,  all  you  have  gained,  all  you  are  you  treat  as 
fuel — you  have  said  it — to  burn  in  the  furnace  of  your 
one  passion — music." 

Martin  admitted  this  with  a  reservation. 

"  That  was  true,"  he  said,  "  till  just  a  week  ago." 

Stella  rose  from  her  place;  sitting  close  to  him,  like 
that,  she  could  not  say  what  she  meant  to  say.  Per- 
sonal magnetism,  her  love  for  that  beautiful  face, 
prevented  her.  So  she  went  to  the  hearth-rug,  under 
pretence  of  poking  the  fire,  and  stood  there  with  her 
back  to  it,  facing  liim.  Then  she  spoke  more  quickly, 
with  a  certain  vibration  in  her  voice. 

"  And  this  last  week,"  she  said,  "  a  new  and  won- 
derful piece  of  music  was  discovered  by  you.     Yes,  I 


298  THE   CHALLONERS 

put  myself  as  high  as  that.  But  am  I  more  than  that? 
Am  I  really?" 

Martin's  forehead  wrinkled  slightly.  Had  it  not 
been  Stella  who  asked  him  this  he  would  have  said  the 
question  was  unreasonable.  But  before  he  could  reply 
she  went  on. 

"  Ah,  dearest,"  she  said.  "  I  asked  you  just  now  to 
absorb  me,  to  make  me  you.  But  I  will  not  flow  out 
of  your  finger-tips.  Oh,  I  know  you  only  said  that  in 
jest,  but  in  jest  sometimes  one  strikes  very  near  to 
truth.  Have  you  thought  what  you  are  to  me,  and 
what,  if  I  am  anything,  I  must  be  to  you.  Some- 
thing absolutely  indispensable,  your  life,  no  less.  Now, 
supposing  chords  and  harmonies  were  dumb  to  you 
forever,  what  would  be  left  of  you?    Tell  me  that." 

Martin's  expression  grew  puzzled.  It  was  as  if  she 
asked  him  some  preposterous  riddle  without  answer. 
How  could  he  compare  the  two? 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  I  should 
somehow  and  sometime  adjust  myself  to  it,  though  I 
haven't  the  slightest  idea  how.  I  can't  imagine  life, 
consciousness,  without  them." 

"And  if  I  went  out  of  your  life?"  she  asked,  un- 
wisely, but  longing  for  some  convincing  answer. 

In  reply  Martin  got  up  and  went  close  to  her. 

"  You  have  often  called  me  a  fool,"  he  said,  "  and 
you  have  often  called  me  a  child.  I  am  both  when  you 
ask  me  things  like  that.  But  this  foolish  child  speaks 
to  you,  so  listen.  He  does  not  know  what  it  all  means, 
but  he  loves  you.  He  knows  no  other  word  except 
that.    Is  that  not  enough?    If  not,  what  is?" 

Then  once  again  the  mastery  of  man  overcame  her. 
She  wanted  him*  so  much,  more  than  any  answer  to 


THE    CHALLONERS  299 

her  questions.  The  subtleties  into  which  she  had  tried 
to  draw  him  he  brushed  aside;  her  woman's  brain, 
her  woman's  desire  to  hear  him  say  that  she  was  all, 
had  spun  them  deftly  enough,  but  he  blundered 
through  them  somehow,  like  a  bumblebee  through  a 
spider's  web,  and  came  booming  out  on  the  other  side. 
Theoretically,  anyhow,  if  he  had  been  a  woman,  they 
must  have  caught  him,  he  must  have  struggled  with 
them,  felt  their  entanglement.  As  it  was,  she  had 
failed.  Probably  he  labelled  her  fine  spinnings  "  silly" 
in  his  own  mind.  But  he  proceeded  through  them — 
still  frowning  a  little. 

"  You  ask  me  impossible  riddles,"  he  said.  "  You 
might  as  well  ask  me  whether  you  would  sooner  tie 
your  mother  to  the  stake  and  burn  her  or  me.  My 
darling,  there  is  no  sense  in  such  things.  Surely  one 
can  be  simple  about  love,  just  because  it  is  so  big.  I 
know  I  love  you,  that  is  enough  for  me.  I  told  you 
that  I  know  nothing  else.  That  is  sober  truth.  But  I 
cannot  weigh  things  in  balances.  And,  what  is  more, 
I  won't.     Now  kiss  me;   no,  properly." 

It  must  therefore  be  inferred  that  he  got  his  way 
in  this  matter,  for  when,  two  minutes  later,  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale  made  her  untimely  appearance,  the  two  were 
again  seated,  Stella  this  time  in  the  chair  and  Martin 
on  the  arm. 

"  But  famishing,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  tea,  please,  dear 
Stella.  Martin,  you  monster,  I  haven't  seen  you  for 
days.  Why  I  haven't  taken  to  drink  I  don't  know, 
over  all  the  dreadful  things  that  have  been  happening. 
Would  you  believe  it, — Sahara  had  two  puppies ;  but 
she  couldn't  bear  them,  so  she  ate  one  and  starved  the 
other.    Well,  it's  all  over,  but  nobody  in  the  house  has 


300  THE    CHALLONERS 

had  a  wink  of  sleep  for  the  last  week.  And  so  you 
are  going  to  give  a  concert  at  last,  Martin.  I  shan't 
come.     I  hate  my  private  property  being  made  public." 

"  But  charity,"  said  Martin. 

"  My  dear,  I  know  perfectly  well  what  charity  and 
St.  James's  Hall  means.  It  means  guinea  tickets. 
Charity  should  begin  at  home,  not  at  St.  James's  Hall. 
However,  I  daresay  you  will  appropriate  all  the  pro- 
ceeds. So  near  the  Circus,  too.  Really,  Piccadilly  Cir- 
cus is  too  fascinating.  I  should  like  to  have  a  house 
in  the  very  centre  of  it,  with  a  glass  gallery  all  round, 
and  really  see  life.  Yes,  one  more  piece  of  mufifin, — 
not  for  myself,  but  for  Suez  Canal.  Suez  Canal  is  so 
lonely,  poor  darling,  without  Sahara;  but  there  is 
muffin  quand  nieme.  Naughty !  I'm  sure  the  servants 
feed  him.  And  so  everybody  is  to  be  married  in  May. 
Fancy  the  Bear  coming  round  like  that — even  Bears 
will  turn — about  Helen  and  Frank.  Apparently,  they 
are  quite  inseparable, — the  Bear  and  Frank  I  mean, 
and  tie  each  other's  bootlaces,  and  are  converting  each 
other  to  Christianity  and  Atheism  respectively.  Bears 
and  buns!  Frank  is  a  bun,  and  the  Bear  has  decided 
it  is  worth  climbing  up  a  pole  to  get  him.  I  think  it 
is  a  mistake  to  have  said  that.  Besides,  it  is  absolutely 
untrue.  The  Bear  wouldn't  climb  a  yard  to  marry 
Helen  to  the  Czar.  How  terrible  Russia  must  be, 
with  everything  ending  in  '  owsky' !  I  tried  to  flirt 
with  the  Bear  myself,  and  had  no  success  of  any  kind 
whatever.  Dear  Suez!  No  Sahara.  The  world  is  a 
desert  without  Sahara.  But  mayn't  I  tempt  you  with 
a  small  piece  of  bun  with  sugar  on  the  top?  How 
depressing  marriages  are!" 

Lady  Sunningdale  sighed  heavily. 


THE    CHALLONERS  301 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Stella,  sympatheti- 
cally. 

"  I  don't  know.  Dearest,  that  Louis  XVI.  clock  is 
too  beautiful.  I  wish  I  were  a  millionaire.  Yes.  I 
think  I  am  depressed  because  everything  is  going  ex- 
actly as  I  planned  it.  There  is  nothing  so  tiresome  as 
success.  You  two  children  sitting  there,  Frank  and 
Helen,  all  my  own  ideas,  and  all  going  precisely  as  I 
wished.  You  are  my  idea,  too,  Martin,  a  figment  of 
my  brain.  I  invented  you.  And  you  are  going  pre- 
cisely as  I  wished.  Every  one  says  nobody  ever  played 
the  least  like  you.  But  the  Bear  is  still  in  a  rage  with 
you,  is  he  not?  That  is  so  English.  English  people 
are  always  in  a  rage  about  something,  the  state  of  the 
weather,  or  France,  or  their  children.  I  never  get  in 
a  rage.  I  have  no  time  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Stella 
dearest,  I  think  it  will  have  to  be  you  to  go  down  to 
Chartries  next,  and  induce  the  Bear  to  be  propitiated. 
Heavens,  how  dreadful  it  must  be  to  have  a  very 
strong  sense  of  duty!  It  must  be  like  toast-crumbs 
in  your  bed,  after  you  have  breakfasted  there,  when 
one  can't  lie  comfortable  for  five  minutes  together." 

"  No,  I  am  the  next,"  said  Martin.  "  I  shall  be 
staying  with  my  uncle  at  Easter,  and  shall  try  to  see 
my  father  then.     I  daresay  it  will  do  no  good." 

"Do  you  really  care?"  asked  Lady  Sunningdale. 
"  I  really  don't  see  why  you  should.  He  is  unreason- 
able.    I  shouldn't  worry." 

Stella  turned  to  Martin  with  a  certain  air  of  ex- 
pectancy. 

"  Yes,  I  do  care,"  he  said;  "  I  care  horribly.  I  care 
every  day.  I  hate  being  on  bad  terms  with  any  one. 
I  hate  anger  and  resentment,"  he  added,  with  a  little 


302  THE    CHALLONERS 

quiet  air  of  dignity,  for  he  had  not  wholly  liked  Lady 
Sunningdale's  remarks. 

"  That  was  one  of  Nature's  most  extraordinary  con- 
juring tricks,"  she  said.  "People  talk  of  heredity; 
but  put  all  the  fathers  of  England  in  a  row,  and  ask 
any  one  to  pick  out  Martin's.  The  better  they  know 
either  of  you,  by  so  much  the  more  Vv^ill  they  pick  out 
Mr.  Challoner  last  of  all !" 

Martin  got  up. 

"Ah,  don't  let's  talk  about  it,"  he  said;  "it  is  not 
agreeable.  I  wish  I  could  laugh  about  it  like  you,  but 
I  can't." 

Then,  with  a  quick  intuition,  he  turned  to  Stella. 

"  One  can't  do  any  good  by  talking  about  it,  can 
one?"  he  asked. 

Something  still  jarred  on  the  girl,  due  partly  to  their 
talk  before  Lady  Sunningdale  came  in. 

"  You  have  admirable  common  sense,"  she  said. 

Lady  Sunningdale  caught  on  to  this  with  her  usual 
quickness.  She  knew  for  certain  from  Stella's  tone  that 
something  had  gone  just  a  shade  wrong  between  them. 

"  And  you  find  it  rather  trying,  do  you  not,  dearest 
Stella?"  she  said.  "Of  course,  Martin  is  the  most 
trying  person  in  the  world;  and  if  it  wasn't  for  his 
ten  fingers  he  would  be  absolutely  intolerable.  He  is 
a  boy  of  about  twelve,  with  dreadful  streaks  of  com- 
mon sense  worthy  of  a  man  of  fifty  who  has  left  all 
his  illusions  behind  him.     Yes,  monster,  that  is  you !" 

Martin  raised  his  eyebrows,  his  excellent  temper 
slightly  ruffled  for  the  moment. 

"  Indeed,  I  didn't  recognise  it,"  he  said. 

"  Dear  Martin,  don't  be  pompous.  You  didn't 
recognise  it  because  it  wasn't  flattering.    They  say  we 


THE    CHALLONERS  303 

women  are  vain,   but  compared  to  men Some 

women  are  vain  of  their  appearance,  it  is  true,  and 
usually  without  sufficient  cause,  but  all  men  are  vain  of 
every  attribute  that  God  has  or  has  not  endowed  them 
with.  Remember  that,  Stella,  and  if  you  want  to  lead  a 
quiet  life,  lay  on  flattery  with  a  spade.  They  are  in- 
satiable. Personally  I  don't  flatter  Sunningdale,  be- 
cause I  don't  in  the  least  want  a  quiet  life.  Tranquility 
is  so  frightfully  aging  and  makes  one  like  an  oyster." 

Martin  had  recovered  his  serenity. 

"  When  I  am  dead,"  he  remarked,  "  you  will  be 
sorry  for  what  you  have  said.  But  why  this  sudden 
attack  on  me?" 

"  When  you  are  dead  you  will  see  how  right  I  was. 
But  the  attack — well,  chiefly  because  you  haven't  pro- 
voked it.  That  is  so  tiresome  of  you.  You  could  see  I 
wanted  to  quarrel,  and  you  wouldn't  say  anything  I 
could  lay  hold  of.  If  I  want  to  sit  down,  politeness 
ordains  that  you  should  give  me  a  chair.  If  you  see 
I  want  to  quarrel,  politeness  ordains  that  you  should 
give  me  a  pretext.  It  is  the  worst  possible  manners 
not  to.  My  nerves  are  all  on  edge.  When  that  is  the 
case,  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  quiet  them  by  being 
rude  to  other  people.  Dearest  Stella,  you  look  too 
lovely  this  afternoon.  Why  you  want  to  throw  your- 
self away  on  Martin  I  can't  think !" 

"  But  you  said  just  now  it  was  your  idea,"  said 
Stella. 

"  I  know  it  was,  and  a  very  foolish  one.  I  never 
imagined  you  would  take  it  seriously.  Besides,  you 
know  perfectly  well  that  whenever  a  thing  happens 
that  pleases  me,  I  always  say  it  is  my  own  idea.  My 
darling,  did  I  tread  on  you.    How  foolish  of  you  to  lie 


304  THE    CHALLONERS 

there.  And  when  you  are  all  happily  settled  for,  what 
am  I  to  do  next?" 

The  clock  struck  and  Martin  looked  up. 

"  Gracious,  I  am  late,"  he  said.  "  Karl  was  to  give 
me  a  lesson  at  six.  You  must  say  good-bye  to  me 
next,  Lady  Sunningdale." 

Stella  got  up,  too. 

"  I'll  see  you  safely  out  of  the  house,"  she  said,  and 
left  the  room  with  him.  Then,  having  closed  the  door, 
she  paused,  taking  hold  of  the  kppel  of  his  coat. 

"Martin,  you're  not  vexed  with  me?"  she  asked. 

"  No;   why?    I  thought  you  were  vexed  with  me." 

"  No,  dear.  I  was  vexed  with  myself,  I  think,  and 
so  I  was  horrid  to  you.  But,  my  dearest,  give  me  all 
you  can  of  yourself.  I  want  so  much,  just  because  it  is 
you!" 

Martin's  eyes  kindled  and  glowed. 

"  It  is  all  yours,"  he  said.  "  You  know  that.  I  wish 
there  was  more  of  it.  And  there  is  more  since — since 
a  week  ago." 

"  Then  I  am  content,"  she  said,  "  and  that  means 
a  great  deal.  I  think  I  was  rather  jealous  of  pianos 
generally.     And  you  forgive  me?     Yes? 

Lady  Sunningdale,  though  often  irrelevant  from 
sheer  irrelevancy,  was  also  sometimes  irrelevant  on 
purpose,  using  preposterous  conversation,  as  Bismarck 
used  truth,  as  a  valuable  instrument  to  secure  definite 
ends.  Just  now,  for  instance,  her  attack  on  Martin 
had  purpose  at  its  back,  for  she  had  seen  quite  dis- 
tinctly that  something  had  gone  wrong  between  him 
and  Stella,  and  had  made  the  diversion  in  order  to 
prevent  the  topic  of  friction,  whatever  it  was,  being 
subjected  to   further  rubbing.     Providence  had  lent 


THE    CHALLONERS  305 

aid  to  her  benevolent  scheme,  sending  Martin  off  to  his 
music-lesson  and  leaving  Stella  alone  with  her.  In 
fact,  her  request  to  be  told  what  she  should  do  next 
needed  no  answer  at  all,  for  she  knew  quite  well  that 
what  she  would  do  next  was  to  get  Stella  to  confide  in 
her  and  tell  her  all  that  had  happened.  She  was  a  great 
believer  in  talking  things  out;  the  important  point, 
however,  was  not  that  the  principals  should  talk  things 
out,  which  was,  indeed,  worse  than  useless,  but  that 
they  should  severally  talk  it  out  with  somebody  else. 
She  wondered,  and  indeed  rather  hoped,  that  Martin 
might  simultaneously  talk  it  out  with  Karl,  for,  as  she 
had  had  occasion  to  observe  before,  Martin's  music- 
lesson  consisted  chiefly  of  discussion  on  character. 

Stella  returned  in  a  moment,  and  Lady  Sunning- 
dale  was  irrelevant  no  longer.  She  only  took  a  pre- 
liminary circuit  or  two  in  the  manner  of  a  homing 
pigeon  before  it  takes  the  straight,  unswerving  line. 

"  Martin  is  simply  absorbed  in  the  thought  of  his 
concert,"  she  said.  "  And  he  is  going  to  play  just  all 
the  things  that  make  me  laugh  and  cry.  Personally,  I 
shall  go  with  five  handkerchiefs  and  a  copy  of  some 
English  comic  paper.  The  handkerchiefs  are  for  the 
tears  I  shall  shed,  and  the  comic  paper  is  to  check  my 
laughter  when  he  plays  the  Paganini  Variations.  Dear 
Stella,  how  very  wise  of  you  to  marry  a  genius.  You 
will  never  be  dull.  But  it  is  rather  bold,  too.  Oh, 
please  take  Suez  Canal  out  of  the  grate;  he  is  trying 
to  commit  suicide,  I  think,  because  Sahara  is  not  here. 
Yes.  Geniuses  are  so  unexpected  and  violent.  It 
must  be  like  marrying  somebody  who  keeps  several 
full-sized  flashes  of  lightning  about  him,  and  also  a 
large  lump  of  damp  clay.     You  never  know  which 

20 


306  THE    CHALLONERS 

you  will  put  your  hand  on,  and  they  are  both  so  dread- 
fully disconcerting." 

Stella  picked  Suez  Canal  out  of  the  grate.  Ap- 
parently he  was  putting  ashes  on  his  head  as  a  sign  of 
mourning,  and  she  dusted  him  carefully  before  re- 
plying. 

"  I  am  disconcerted,"  she  said. 

Lady  Sunningdale  never  pressed  for  a  confidence. 
"  To  show  that  you  want  a  thing,"  she  once  said, 
"  usually  means  that  you  are  grudgingly  given  half  of 
it.  But  if  you  firmly  turn  your  back  on  it,  it  is  hurled 
at  you."  She  turned  her  back  now,  using  irrelevance 
again. 

''  It  is  nearly  three  years  since  I  was  disconcerted," 
she  said,  "  and  the  terrible  thing  is  that  I  quite  forget 
what  disconcerted  me.  I  think  it  must  have  been 
Sunningdale.  Do  you  know  he  spoke  in  the  House 
of  Lords  the  other  day  on  one  side,  and  then  voted 
on  the  other.  His  reason  was  that  he  felt  his  own 
remarks  to  be  so  feeble  that  he  was  sure  there  was 
more  to  be  said  on  the  other  side.  But  I  believe  he 
merely  forgot.  Yes.  That  marble  fireplace  is  so  good. 
Surely  it  must  be  Adams's." 

This  was  completely  efficacious. 

"  Shall  I  bore  you,  if  I  talk  to  you  ?"  asked  Stella. 

"  No,  dearest  Stella.  I  love  being  talked  to.  What 
is  it?" 

"  It  is  Martin,"  said  she. 

The  back  view  had  done  its  part.  Lady  Sunning- 
dale turned  completely  round  again. 

"  Dearest  Stella,"  she  said,  "  pray  put  out  the  elec- 
tric light.  It  is  rather  strong  in  my  eyes.  Yes,  Mar- 
tin now !" 


THE    CHALLONERS  307 

Stella  felt  as  she  turned  out  the  light  that  this  was 
exactly  what  she  wished.  In  the  dim  flickering  fire- 
light her  thoughts,  drawn  to  the  surface,  became 
articulate  more  easily. 

"  He  is  just  what  you  say,"  she  said.  "  You  touch 
him,  and  never  know  whether  it  is  going  to  be  light- 
ning or  clay.  The  lightning  does  not  disconcert  me. 
But,  dear  Lady  Sunningdale,  the  clay  does!" 

Lady  Sunningdale  was  really  immensely  interested. 
She  had  her  own  methods  of  getting  the  girl  to  rum- 
mage in  the  dark  corners  of  her  mind  and  bring  out  all 
that  was  there,  and  she  pursued  them  now. 

"  Clay  is  not  really  disconcerting,"  she  said ;  "  it  is 
only  the  possibility  of  clay  when  you  expect  lightning. 
My  own  darling  Sunningdale  is  entirely  clay.  Of 
course  there  is  clay  in  Martin;  there  is  in  everybody. 
How  have  you  managed  to  come  across  it?  Because 
he  has  singularly  little." 

"  Music  is  his  lightning,"  said  Stella. 

"Do  you  mean  that  the  rest  is  clay?"  asked  Lady 
Sunningdale. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Stella  turned  out  an  ex- 
tremely dark  corner  in  her  mind,  something  really  quite 
below  the  stairs. 

"What  if  I  am?"  she  asked. 

"  Then,  dearest  Stella,  you  have  only  yourself  to 
thank.  He  did  not  think  you  clay  anyhow  a  week  ago. 
Else,  why  should  he  have  asked  you  to  marry  him? 
Or  do  you  mean  that  Martin  has  changed  since  then  ?" 

Again  Stella  paused. 

"  I  must  say  it  more  simply,"  she  said.  "  Look  at  it 
in  this  way.  What  if  Martin  is  music?  if  everything 
else  to  him  is  secondary  to  that?" 


308  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  Then  he  would  have  asked  the  complete  works  of 
Chopin  to  marry  him,"  remarked  Lady  Sunningdale. 
"  But,  as  far  as  I  know,  he  didn't.  It  occurs  to  me 
that  he  asked  you.  And  I  know,  I  can  feel  it,  that 
he  is  devoted  to  you,  really  in  love  with  you.  Only 
don't,  for  Heaven's  sake,  let  your  mind  dwell  for  a 
moment  on  the  relative  positions  that  you  and  music 
hold  to  him." 

"  I  have  done  worse  than  that,"  said  Stella.  "  I 
have  asked  him  what  relative  positions  we  hold.  I 
did  so  to-day." 

"  My  dear,  how  insane!     What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  told  me  not  to  talk  nonsense.  But  is  it  non- 
sense : 

Lady  Sunningdale  drew  a  little  nearer  to  the  fire. 
All  her  kindliness,  all  her  good  nature,  and  what  was 
perhaps  even  more  important,  all  her  tact  and  finesse, 
was  enlisted  on  behalf  of  these  two.  She  recognised 
to  herself  that  there  was  here  in  all  probability  only 
one  of  those  tiny  misunderstandings  which  must  occur 
between  a  man  and  a  woman  who  are  now  for  the 
first  time  really  learning  each  other.  At  the  same  time 
it  seemed  to  her  quite  important,  if  possible,  to  thor- 
oughly dust,  clean  out,  and  disinfect  this  dark  little 
mental  corner  in  Stella,  for  it  might  easily  contain  the 
germ  of  a  misunderstanding  that  would  be  by  no  means 
trivial. 

"  Yes,  it  is  nonsense,"  she  said,  decidedly.  "  It  is 
poisonous,  suicidal  nonsense.  You  are  exactly  like  the 
Bear.  You  don't  seem  to  grasp  any  more  than  the 
Bear  does  what  music  means  to  Martin.  It  means, 
in  one  word,  '  God.'  It  is  his  religion, — and,  good 
gracious,   supposing  he  was  a  bishop  and  you  were 


THE    CHALLONEES  309 

going  to  marry  him,  you  would  not,  I  hope,  be  jealous 
of  his  religion.  And  in  music  Martin  is  a  very  big 
bishop,  indeed !  But  in  other  respects — you  forget  this 
too — he  is  simply  a  child.  I  can't  imagine  what  Martin 
will  be  like  when  he  is  middle-aged.  It  is  impossible  to 
think  of  him  as  middle-aged.  Martin  and  middle  age 
are  not  compatible  terms.  True,  Karl  says  he  has  been 
having  a  good  many  birthdays  lately.  I,  too,  think 
he  has,  but  he  has,  so  to  speak,  made  saints'  days  of 
them  all,  and  dedicated  them  to  his  religion.  All  but 
one,  that  is  to  say." 

"And  that  one?"  asked  Stella. 

"  He  had  a  birthday  when  he  fell  in  love  with  you. 
That  is  yours;  he  has  given  you  that.  My  dear,  he 
adores  you.  When  you  come  into  the  room  his  face 
is  lit.  Only,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  worry  him  and 
question  him  about  his  soul  and  his  depth  and  the 
exact  way  in  which  he  loves  you.  If  you  insist,  he 
will  try  to  answer  you,  and  his  answers  will  be  dread- 
fully disappointing  to  you,  because  he  doesn't  know 
anything  about  it.  To  question  him  is  like — it  is  like 
looking  at  light  through  a  prism  or  a  spectroscope, 
splitting  it  up  into  rays,  when  instead  you  might  be 
sitting  in  the  sun.  Dear  me,  how  very  precise  and 
definite  I  am  becoming.  I  mean  exactly  that — I  hope 
I  am  not  going  to  be  ill." 

Stella  laughed. 

"  Dear  Lady  Sunningdale,  I  hope  not,"  she  said. 
"  In  any  case,  tell  me  some  more  first." 

"  My  dear,  I  can't  talk  sense  to  order.  You  must 
collect  the  extremely  valuable  grains  of  gold  in  my 
conversation  for  yourself  out  of  the  extraordinary 
mass  of  quite  valueless  material." 


310  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  But  he  is  disconcerting,"  began  Stella  again, 

"  Ah,  yes,  but  so  quite  certainly  are  you  to  him. 
Heaven,  how  dull  it  would  be  if  other  people  never 
disconcerted  one.  But  I  don't  think  Martin,  though  I 
am  sure  he  must  often  find  you  disconcerting,  would 
ever  say  so." 

Stella  flushed  slightly. 

"  Is  that  a  reproof?"  she  asked,  gently. 

"  It  certainly  is,  if  it  occurs  to  you  that  it  may  be, 
so  pray,  pray,  don't  deserve  it  again.  Where  is  Suez? 
Oh,  there.  And  don't  allow  yourself,  ever  allow  your- 
self to  think  '  What  a  pity  there  is  an  occasional  lump 
of  clay.'  For,  indeed,  there  is  so  much  lightning.  If 
there  wasn't  a  little  clay,  I  really  think  Martin  would 
explode,  go  off  in  spontaneous  combustion.  My  dear, 
hours  and  hours  of  every  day  pass  for  Martin  at  a 
pressure  of  which  stupid  people  like  you  and  I  have  no 
conception.  He  recuperates  by  restful  intervals,  by 
being  a  mere  boy  with  huge  animal  spirits.  You  may 
thank  your  stars  he  does  not  recuperate  by  being 
vicious  or  sulky.  Most  geniuses  are  morose  and  very 
few  are  quite  sane.  Martin  is  quite  sane,  and  even  the 
Bear,  who  takes  the  gloomiest  possible  view  of  hin\ 
couldn't  call  him  morose.  Go  down  on  your  knees, 
my  dear,  and  be  thankful." 

Stella  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  another  corner 
was  turned  out. 

"And  there  is  no  doubt  about  his  genius?"  she 
asked,  at  length. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  asked  Lady 
Sunningdale.  "  You  will  ask  me  next  if  I  am  quite 
sure  he  hasn't  got  false  teeth.  Dearest  Stella,  do  drop 
this  exacting,  questioning  attitude  once  and  for  all.    I 


THE    CHALLONERS  311 

know  almost  everybody  has  an  occasional  attack  of  it, 
but  I  am  sure  you  will  pardon  me,  it  is  just  that  which 
makes  people  odious.  It  turns  them  sour.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  don't  turn  sour.  Suez  Canal  is  in  the 
grate  again.  Oh,  naughty !  Thank  you,  dearest.  Yes, 
sour.  Take  things  on  broad,  indulgent  lines.  He  loves 
you.  That,  on  the  whole,  you  believe  to  be  a  true 
statement  of  the  case.  Well,  then,  surely  that  is  good 
enough.  Don't  say,  '  Does  his  love  measure  six  feet 
in  height,  or  is  it  only  five  foot  eleven  and  three  quar- 
ters.'    In  fact,  open  the  windows." 

Stella  took  this  very  attentively  and  very  gravely. 

"  Dear  Lady  Sunningdale,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very 
grateful.  I  think  you  have  done  me  good.  I  had  a 
little  attack  of  indigestion  in  my  mind.  Do  you  know, 
I  never  thought  that  you " 

"  You  never  thought  that  I  could  think,''  said  she, 
"  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  wonder.  But  I  can  think  when 
I  choose.  Just  now  the  object  of  my  thought  is  to 
stop  you  thinking.  Leave  psychological  questions 
alone  when  you  are  dealing  with  Martin.  Just  open 
your  mouth,  shut  your  eyes,  and  see  what  Martin  will 
give  you,  as  we  used  to  say  when  children.  You  are  a 
most  fortunate  girl.  Heavens,  fancy  having  Martin 
in  love  with  one !" 

There  was  the  ring  of  absolute  sincerity  about  this, 
so  true  and  distinct  that  Stella  wondered.  She  won- 
dered still  more  when,  on  looking  at  the  other's  face, 
she  saw  that  Lady  Sunningdale's  eyes  were  full  of 
tears,  which  she  openly  mopped  up  with  a  square  two 
inches  of  lace. 

"  Yes,  real  tears,"  she  said ;  "  tears  of  extreme 
middle    age,    my    dear.      What    are    they    made    of? 


312  THE    CHALLONERS 

Water,  I  suppose,  with  just  a  little  jealousy  and  a 
little  youth  still  left  in  them,  and  adoration  for  genius 
and  love  of  beauty.  In  fact,  they  are  the  most  com- 
plicated tears  I  ever  heard  of;  one  or  two  like  that 
from  each  eye  and  then  it  is  over.  Dearest  Stella,  you 
are  such  a  fool.  One  is  always  a  fool  till  one  is  middle- 
aged,  and  then  one  is  young  no  longer.  That  is  the 
tragedy  of  growing  old.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  be 
mature  and  young  simultaneously.  You  are  a  fool 
because  you  don't  know  what  a  priceless,  perfect  gift 
has  been  given  you, — Martin's  love.  I  envy  you  in- 
tolerably ;  I  gnash  my  teeth  with  rage.  Don't  misunder- 
stand me.  I  don't  want  him  in  the  least  to  fall  in 
love  with  me;  and,  to  reassure  you,  I  may  say  that 
even  to  my  amorous  eye  there  does  not  appear  to  be 
the  very  slightest  chance  of  it.  But  I  gnash  my  teeth 
because  I  am  not  young  like  you,  so  that  he  might 
fall  in  love  with  me,  and  at  the  same  time  wise  like 
myself,  so  that  I  should  know  what  to  do  with 
him.'' 

"  Ah,  tell  me  that ;  do  tell  me  how  to  manage,  how 
to  behave,"  said  Stella. 

"  I  can't.  That  is  just  it.  There  is  another  tragedy 
in  this  mismanaged  world,  that  nobody  can  teach  any 
one  else  anything  that  is  worth  knowing.  You  can't 
teach  me  how  to  look  young ;  I  can't  teach  you  how  to 
be  wise,  how  to  appreciate,  how  not  to  worry.  But 
Martin's  mind  is  like  a  cut  diamond :  it  absorbs  what- 
ever light — blue,  green,  red — is  thrown  into  it,  and 
turns  it  by  its  own  magic  into  inapproachable  colour. 
That  colour  is  seen  in  his  music.  Oh,  I  have  watched 
you  often  this  last  week.  You  worry  him  and  puzzle 
him,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  wonder,  if  you  ask  him  the 


THE    CHALLONERS  313 

relative  places  of  music  and  you  in  his  mind.  Do  you 
not  see  how  stupid  that  is?    Answer  me." 

Stella  smiled. 

''  Oh,  don't  rub  it  in,"  she  said.     "  Yes,  it  is  idiotic." 

"  My  dear,  you  are  so  gentle  that  I  feel  a  brute!" 

"  Please  be  a  brute,  then,  just  five  minutes  more," 
said  Stella. 

"  Very  good.  Do  not  take  up  this  absurd  position 
and  say,  '  I  am  your  goddess,  what  incense  have  you 
got  to  burn  before  me  this  morning?  Ah,  that  is  the 
second-quality  incense!  I  thought  so.  How  could 
you  ?'  Be  much  bigger  than  that.  Suez !  Recollect 
who  it  is  who  has  paid  you  this  incomparable  compli- 
ment of  saying  he  wishes  to  see  your  face  opposite  him 
at  breakfast  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  every  day,  every 
day.  Go  to  Karl  Rusoff  and  ask  him  where  he  places 
Martin,  if  you  do  not  believe  me  about  his  genius. 
And  when  he  has  told  you,  hire  the  Albert  Hall,  fill  it 
with  people,  and  tell  them  what  Karl  says.  Then  wait 
a  couple  of  years,  hire  the  Albert  Hall  again,  and  re- 
peat again  what  Karl  told  you.  And  every  single 
person  in  the  hall  will  say,  '  Why,  of  course.  We 
knew  that.'  " 

Stella  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  Then,  must  I  burn  incense  before  him?"  she  asked. 
"  The  very  best  incense.     I  should  love  to  do  that !" 

Lady  Sunningdale  restrained  a  movement  of  im- 
patience. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  the  one  person  in  the  world  who 
must  not  burn  incense,"  she  said.  "  An  incense-burn- 
ing wife  is  like  dram-drinking  to  a  man.  You  are  to 
be  his  wife.  That  means  a  good  deal.  But  you  are  to 
be  his  comrade.     That  means  much  more.     He  and 


314  THE    CHALLONERS 

Helen!  Why  he  did  not  get  Helen  to  come  and  live 
with  him,  and — well,  not  marry  at  all,  I  don't  know. 
Perhaps  Frank  would  object.     Men  are  all  so  selfish." 

"  Do  you  mean  he  has  chosen  badly?"  asked  Stella. 

"  No,  dear ;  and  it  is  silly  to  say  that.  What  I  meant 
was  that  I  wonder  why  he  wanted  to  marry  at  all, 
why  a  nature  like  that  has  need  of  anybody  else.  If  I 
was  like  Martin,  I  should  never  see  a  soul,  but  con- 
template my  own  wonderfulness.  However,  he  did 
want  somebody  else.  And  he  chose  you,  you  fortunate 
girl." 

"  I  ought  to  be  very  happy,  then?"  she  asked. 

"  Ah,  I  don't  say  that.  Perhaps  you  will  be  divinely, 
ecstatically  discontented.  Happiness  is  rather  a  bovine 
quality,  I  always  think.  It  implies  not  wanting.  Any 
one  with  imagination  must  always  want.  Yes.  Dear 
me,  I  came  here  to  say  something,  and  I  forget  what — 
I  have  said  a  good  deal,  but  not  it.  Dearest  Stella,  do 
you  forgive  me?  At  least,  for  my  own  creature  com- 
fort, I  want  you  to  forgive  me ;  but  essentially  I  don't 
care,  as  I  know  I  am  right." 

"  No,  I  don't  forgive  you,"  said  the  girl,  "  but  I 
thank  you." 

Lady  Sunningdale  struggled  to  her  feet  out  of  her 
very  low  chair. 

"  That  is  sweet  of  you.  Yes,  Suez,  my  darling,  we 
are  going  home  to  din-din  and  Sahara.  Ah,  I  re- 
member. I  want  you  and  your  mother  to  join  us  at 
Cannes  for  a  fortnight  at  Easter.  Sunningdale's  villa 
is  really  quite  comfortable,  and  you  can  look  at  the 
Mediterranean  and  meditate.  Ask  her  to  send  me  a 
line  about  it,  but  come  yourself  in  any  case.  The 
Southern  sun  always  melts  my  brains,  and  liquid  wis- 


THE    CHALLONERS  315 

dom  flows  from  my  lips  in  practically  unlimited  quan- 
tities. Why  don't  we  all  live  at  Cannes,  among  the 
palms  and  that  sort  of  thing.  If  you  can't  come,  I 
shall  ask  Martin;  but  I  don't  mean  to  have  you  to- 
gether. You  will  be  quite  enough  together  afterwards. 
Dear  me,  how  screaming  Martin  will  be  as  the  master 
of  a  house !  Good-bye,  darling  Stella.  Yes,  pray,  turn 
up  the  lights,  otherwise  I  shall  crash  my  way  through 
priceless  furniture  and  tread  on  Suez  Canal." 


CHAPTER    XIV 

Karl  Rusoff  had  experienced  a  good  deal  of  in- 
ward anxiety,  which  he  was  very  careful  to  keep  en- 
tirely to  himself,  for  several  days  before  Martin's  con- 
cert, for  the  thought  of  it,  as  the  day  got  near,  had 
agitated  and  excited  the  latter  to  the  point  of  making 
him  lose  his  sleep  and  his  appetite.  Though  Karl 
knew  quite  well  that  an  artist  does  his  best,  as  a  rule, 
under  the  spell  of  excitement,  more,  that  any  notable 
achievement  can  hardly  be  compassed  without  it,  yet  in 
the  present  case  Martin  himself  was  naturally  so 
highly  strung  and  his  excitement  had  become  acute  so 
many  hours  before  he  was  to  make  his  appearance 
that  his  master  could  not  help  silently  wondering 
whether  he  could  stand  the  strain  of  it  till  the  day 
came.  At  other  times  again  Karl,  knowing  Martin's 
serene,  splendid  health,  found  consolation  in  telling 
himself  that  the  tighter  and  more  tense  his  nerves  got 
the  more  wonderful  would  his  playing  be.  Even 
during  the  last  week  or  two  he  had  made  such  an 
enormous  advance  in  his  general  grasp  that  Karl  knew 
that  he  himself  would  be  bitterly  disappointed  if  this 
extraordinary  youth  did  not  on  his  very  first  appear- 
ance legitimately  and  justifiably  take  musical  London 
by  storm.  At  the  same  time  he  knew  that  he  himself 
would  give  a  very  deep  sigh  of  relief  when  Martin  had 
got  through,  say,  the  first  three  minutes  of  his  recital. 
That  safely  past,  he  was  sure  that  the  mere  feel  of  the 
316 


THE    CHALLONERS  317 

familiar  notes  would  occupy  him  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
agitation. 

Only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  he  was  to  come  on 
to  the  platform  Karl  was  with  him  in  the  artist's  room, 
trying  to  occupy  his  mind  in  talk,  but  watching  him 
with  ever-increasing  nervousness,  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  like  a  caged  animal  between  door  and  window. 
Once  Martin  took  out  a  cigarette,  bit  the  end  off  as  if 
it  were  a  cigar,  and  threw  it  away.  Then  he  asked  a 
question,  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  the  answer, 
and  finally  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table.  His  face 
was  flushed,  his  eyes  very  bright ;  had  not  it  been  that 
Karl  knew  how  excited  he  was,  he  would  have  thought 
he  was  ill. 

"  I  shall  break  down,"  he  said.  "  Look  at  my  hands; 
look  how  they  tremble.  I  can't  keep  them  still.  I 
could  no  more  play  a  series  of  octaves  than  I  could  fly. 
It  would  be  like  the  '  Tremolo'  stop  on  Chartries 
organ." 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  have  told  you  that  that  does  not 
matter  in  the  slightest  degree,"  said  Karl.  "  The  mo- 
ment you  touch  the  notes  that  will  cease  absolutely. 
Why,  even  now  my  hands  always  tremble  before  I 
begin!" 

Martin  apparently  was  not  listening. 

"  And  I  have  not  the  remotest  notion  how  the 
*  £tudes  Symphoniques'  begin,"  he  said. 

Karl  tried  to  laugh,  but  he  was  not  very  success- 
ful. As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  quite  as  nervous  as 
Martin. 

"  That's  a  great  pity,"  he  said,  "  as  you  open  with  it. 
I  don't  know  either." 

But  Martin  did  not  smile. 


318  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  What  will  you  do  if  I  break  down?"  he  said;  "  if 
I  can't  begin?    It  is  more  than  possible." 

"  I  shall  hiss ;  I  shall  boo ;  I  shall  demand  the  re- 
turn of  my  money,"  said  he. 

But  Martin  still  remained  perfectly  grave. 

"  Ah,  don't,"  he  said;  "  the  others  may  boo  if  they 
like,  and  I  shan't  mind — much.  But  I  couldn't  stand 
it  if  you  did." 

"  Did  you  drink  a  good,  stiff  glass  of  whiskey-and- 
soda  for  lunch,  as  I  told  you  to?"  demanded  Karl. 

"  I  tried  to,  but  I  should  have  been  dead  drunk  if 
I  had  gone  on.  So  what  will  you  do  if  I  break  down?" 
he  asked  again.    "  You  told  me,  but  I  have  forgotten." 

Karl  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  I  shall  break  my  heart,  Martin,"  he  said. 

Then  he  spoke  to  him  quickly,  peremptorily,  seeing 
he  was  really  on  the  verge  of  hysterics. 

"  We've  had  quite  enough  of  this  nonsense,  my  dear 
boy,"  he  said.  "  If  you  give  me  any  more  of  it,  I 
shall  lose  my  temper  with  you.  You  are  not  going  to 
break  down,  I  forbid  you,  and  you  are  to  do  as  I  tell 
you.  You  are  going  to  play  your  very  best, — better 
than  you  have  ever  played  before.  Now  I  must  get  to 
my  place.  Give  them  five  minutes  law  before  you  ap- 
pear, and  as  soon  as  I  see  the  top  of  your  black  head 
coming  up  the  stairs  I  shall  have  all  the  doors  closed 
till  the  end  of  the  fitudes.  We'll  have  no  interruptions  ; 
they  are  frightfully  distracting.  You  know  where  I 
shall  be  sitting,  don't  you  ?  Bow  twice,  right  and  left, 
walk  straight  to  the  piano,  and  begin  instantly,  with- 
out playing  any  fluffy  arpeggios.  It  is  going  to  be  a 
great  day  for  you.     And  for  me." 

Martin  looked  despairingly  round. 


THE    CHALLONERS  319 

"  Don't  leave  me,  don't  leave  me,"  he  said.  "  Can't 
you  sit  by  me?" 

"And  hold  your  hand?  Ah,  this  is  altogether 
childish !" 

For  the  first  time  the  shadow  of  a  smile  crossed 
Martin's  face. 

"  I  know  it  is,"  he  said.  "  I  can  just,  just  see  that. 
I  think  I  had  better  try  to  be  a  little  man  for  a  change." 

The  hall  was  crammed  to  overflowing,  as  if  some 
pianist  of  world-wide  fame  w^as  to  make  his  appear- 
ance, and  not  a  young  man  who  had  never  performed 
in  public  before.  Several  causes  had  contributed  to 
this,  the  first  and  most  important  being  that  Mr.  Mar- 
tin Challoner  was  actually  a  pupil  of  Karl  Rusoff's, 
who  for  years  had  never  consented  to  teach.  Further- 
more, Karl  Rusoff  had  the  very  highest  opinion  of  him, 
— exaggeratedly  high  perhaps,  since  he  was  his  pupil, 
— and  had  not  only  allowed,  but  wished  him  to  give  a 
concert.  Surely,  then,  he  would  run  no  risks ;  Martin 
Challoner  must  have  some  merit.  In  addition,  no 
English  pianist  of  more  than  mediocre  powers  had 
appeared  for  years,  and  patriotism  called.  Finally,  for 
the  last  fortnight  Lady  Sunningdale  had  worn  her 
coachman  to  a  shadow  and  her  horses  to  skin  and 
bones,  so  incessantly  and  unintermittently  had  she 
driven  about,  first  of  all  to  the  houses  of  her  intimates, 
then  of  her  ordinary  friends,  and  lastly  of  the  merest 
acquaintances,  practically  insisting  that  they  should  all 
appear.  Karl  Rusoff  had  done  what  he  could  to  dis- 
courage this,  but  his  efforts  were  totally  void  of  effect, 
for  Lady  Sunningdale  had  told  him  that  it  was  her 
"  duty"  to  do  her  best  for  Martin.     She  seldom  used 


320  THE    CHALLONERS 

the  word  "  duty,"  but  when  she  did,  it  might  be  defined 
as  anything  she  was  irrevocably  determined  to  do,  from 
which  no  argument  could  move  her. 

So  for  the  first  time  Martin  found  himself  in  that 
unspeakable  position  of  being  alone  on  the  shore  of  a 
sea  of  faces,  the  owners  of  which  had  paid  money  in 
anticipation  of  the  pleasure  he  had  undertaken  to  pro- 
vide for  them.  Opposite  him,  a  few  yards  off  only, 
but  looking  misty  and  unreal,  was  the  Steinway  Grand, 
and  he  found  himself  wondering  what  on  earth  it  was 
for.  When  he  remembered,  he  felt  towards  it  as  a  con- 
demned man  may  feel  when  he  sees  the  execution  shed, 
at  a  few  minutes  before  eight.  Then  he  bowed  in 
answer  to  a  very  fair  reception,  and  walked  straight 
to  the  piano.  He  glanced  at  his  programme,  and  saw 
he  had  to  begin  with  Schumann's  "  fitudes  Sympho- 
niques."  He  sat  down,  waited  a  moment  for  silence, 
and  began. 

He  played  one  bar  only  and  then  stopped.  He  had 
not  the  very  faintest  idea  of  how  it  went  on,  and  in  a 
sort  of  mild  despair — he  felt  as  if  his  powers  of  feel- 
ing were  packed  in  cotton  wool — looked  down  to 
where  Karl  was  sitting  in  the  third  row.  Those  great 
grey  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  with  an  expression  of 
supreme  appeal;  he  could  see  the  master's  hands 
clutching  convulsively  at  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front 
of  him.  And  at  that  sight,  at  the  sight  of  the  agony 
Karl  was  in,  Martin  was  able  for  one  moment  to  forget 
himself  and  all  the  bewildering  crowd  of  faces.  So, 
fighting  against  the  paralysis  that  was  on  him,  no 
longer  for  his  own  sake,  but  for  Karl's,  he  again 
turned  to  the  piano. 

But  still  he  could  think  of  nothing,   nothing;    he 


THE    CHALLONERS  321 

could  not  even  remember  the  first  bar  that  he  had 
played  just  now,  and  he  bit  his  lip  with  his  teeth  till  the 
blood  came,  saying  to  himself,  "  It  will  break  his  heart ; 
it  will  break  his  heart."  The  numb,  dulled  sense  was 
gone,  in  that  half-minute  he  endured  an  agony  of 
years. 

Then,  quite  suddenly,  like  the  passage  of  the  sun 
from  behind  some  black  cloud,  all  came  back  to  him, 
and  he  sat  still  a  moment  longer,  in  sheer  happiness. 
At  the  concentrated  thought  of  what  Karl  was  suffer- 
ing, his  nervousness,  his  paralysis  of  mind  went  en- 
tirely from  him,  and  with  complete  certainty,  with  the 
assured  knowledge,  too,  that  he  was  going  to  play  his 
very  best,  he  began  again. 

At  the  end  of  the  slow  Thema  he  paused,  looked 
up  at  Karl  and  smiled  nearly  to  laughing-point  at  him, 
pushed  back  the  plume  of  hair  that  drooped  over  his 
forehead,  and — played.  And  at  that  smile  and  at  the 
gesture  that  was  frequent  with  him,  Karl  gave  one  im- 
mense sigh  of  relief  that  Martin  could  hear.  But  now 
it  meant  nothing  to  him :   he  was  busy. 

Martin's  face,  during  those  few  horrible  moments, 
had  grown  absolutely  colourless,  so  that  Karl  had 
thought,  and  almost  wished — for  so  the  public  shame 
would  be  lessened  and  people  would  be  compassionate 
— that  he  was  going  to  faint.  For  when  for  the 
second  time  Martin  had  turned  to  the  piano  and  still 
could  not  begin,  he  believed  for  that  moment  that  the 
boy  could  not  ])ull  himself  together;  that  unless  he 
fainted  he  would  simply  have  to  walk  off  the  platform 
again.  But  now  the  colour  came  back,  slowly  at  first, 
then,  with  sudden  flushes,  the  dead  apathy  of  his  face 
changed,  and  began  to  live  again.     Soon  his  mouth 

21 


322  THE    CHALLONERS 

parted  slightly,  as  if  wondering  at  the  magic  of  the 
music  which  blossomed  like  roses  underneath  his  fly- 
ing fingers.  Once  or  twice  between  the  variations 
he  brushed  back  his  hair  again;  once  he  looked  up 
at  Karl,  with  the  brilliant  glance  his  master  knew  and 
loved,  asking  with  his  eyes,  "  Will  that  do?  Will  that 
do  for  yonf"  before  he  went  on  interpreting  to  the 
breathless  crowd  the  noble  joy  which  must  have  filled 
the  composer  as  he  wrote.  Full  of  artistic  triumph  as 
Karl's  life  had  been,  never  before  had  it  mounted  and 
soared  so  high  as  now,  when  not  he,  but  his  pupil,  held 
the  hall  enchained. 

And  in  that  moment  his  own  ambitions,  which  he 
had  so  splendidly  realised  for  so  long,  dropped  dead. 
He  and  Martin,  he  knew  now,  were  master  and  pupil 
no  longer ;  it  was  the  master's  turn — and  with  what 
solemn  joy  he  did  it — to  sit  and  learn,  to  hear — and 
he  longed  for  a  myriad  ears — what  was  possible,  for 
even  Martin  had  never  played  like  that  before.  Even 
admiration  was  dead;  there  was  no  room  for  any- 
thing except  listening.  Admiration,  wonder,  delight, 
laughter  of  joy  might  come  when  the  last  note  had 
sounded,  but  at  present  to  listen  was  enough. 

Martin  held  the  last  chord  long.  Then  he  took  both 
hands  off,  as  if  the  keys  were  hot,  and  rose,  facing  the 
hall.  For  him,  too,  just  then,  personal  ambition  was 
dead;  he  had  played,  as  David  played  before  Saul,  in 
order  to  drive  from  his  master's  face  the  demon  of 
agony  that  he  had  seen  there.  And  he  looked  not  at 
Stella,  not  at  Lady  Sunningdale,  not  at  Frank  and 
Helen,  nor  did  his  eyes  wander  over  the  crowded  rows, 
but  straight  at  Karl,  while  the  hall  grew  louder  and 
louder,  till  the  air  was  thick  with  sound,  still  asking 


THE    CHALLONERS  323 

him,  "Did  I  play  it  well?"  And  when  Karl  nodded 
to  him,  he  was  content,  and  bowed  in  front  of  him 
and  to  right  and  left,  thinking  "  How  kind  they  all 
are!"  He  caught  Stella's  eye  and  smiled,  Frank's, 
Helen's,  Lady  Sunningdale's.  Then  he  sat  down  at 
the  piano  again. 

But  it  was  quite  impossible  to  begin,  and  for  his 
own  amusement  ( for  now,  it  must  be  confessed,  he  was 
enjoying  himself  quite  enormously),  he  struck  an 
octave  rather  sharply  and  heard  not  the  faintest  vibra- 
tion from  the  strings  above  the  uproar.  So  he  rose 
again,  bowed  again,  and  still  bowed,  and  bowed  still, 
till  he  felt  like  a  Chinese  mandarin,  and  knew  every- 
body must  think  so,  too.  Then  he  sat  down  and  waited 
till  the  phlegmatic  English  public  had  said  "  thank 
you"  enough. 

A  ten  minutes'  interval  had  been  put  down  on  the 
programme,  and  tea  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  room 
below.  But  he  forgot  all  about  it,  and  went  straight 
through.  The  recital  was  carefully  chosen  not  to  be 
too  long,  and  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events  the 
audience  would  have  been  streaming  out  into  the  street 
again  after  an  hour  and  a  half.  But  they  refused  to 
stream ;  Martin  gave  one  encore,  and  after  a  pause  a 
second,  but  he  was  still  wildly  recalled.  Once  before 
in  the  summer  he  and  Helen  had  sent  "  London"  mad 
about  them ;  this  afternoon  he  did  it  alone.  .And,  at 
last,  in  a  despair  that  was  wholly  delightful,  as  the 
hush  fell  on  the  house  again,  when  he  sat  down  for 
the  fourth  time,  he  played  "  God  save  the  King" 
solemnly  through,  and  his  audience  laughed  and  de- 
parted. 

Lady  Sunningdale  found  that  she  had  burst  her  left- 


324  THE    CHALLONERS 

hand  glove  and  lost  her  right-foot  shoe  when  she 
came  to  take  stock  of  what  had  happened,  as  Martin 
finally  retired  after  "  God  save  the  King."  Karl  was 
sitting  next  her. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  anybody,"  she  said,  "  because 
there  is  nothing  whatever  to  say.  That  is  Martin.  I 
knew  it  all  along.  Yes,  a  shoe,  so  tiresome,  I  don't 
know  how  it  happens.  Thank  you.  Monsieur  Rusoff. 
Stella  dear,  we  start  from  Victoria  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, not  Charing  Cross.  What  did  I  tell  you  when 
we  talked  last?  Do  you  not  see?  That  is  Martin.  If 
any  one  speaks  to  me,  I  shall  slap  him  in  the  face  and 
burst  into  floods  of  tears.  I  should  like  to  see  that 
darling  for  one  moment,  just  to  tell  him  that  he  has 
not  been  altogether  a  failure.  Which  is  the  way?  I 
suppose  he  is  drinking  porter  now,  is  he  not?  or  is  it 
only  singers  who  do  that?  Eight  o'clock,  Stella. 
Quarter  to  eight,  Frank,  because  you  are  always  late. 
Dearest  Helen,  how  is  the  Bear?  Yet  Martin  has 
only  got  eight  fingers  and  two  thumbs  like  the  rest  of 
us.  And  was  it  not  too  thrilling  at  the  beginning?  I 
knew  exactly  how  he  felt.  It  was  pure  toss-up  for 
just  one  moment  whether  he  would  be  able  to  play  at 
all  or  send  us  empty  away  like  the  "  Magnificat." 
Through  this  door,  isn't  it?" 

Karl  Rusoff  showed  her  the  way  through  the  short 
passage  into  the  room  where  two  hours  ago  he  had 
sat  with  Martin  on  the  verge  of  hysterics.  But  now 
a  great  shout  of  boyish  laughter  hailed  them,  and  Mar- 
tin went  up  to  Karl,  both  hands  outstretched. 

"  Ah,  it  was  you  who  pulled  me  through,"  he 
said.  "  I  couldn't  have  begun  otherwise.  But  it  hurt 
you  so  dreadfully.     I — I  felt  it  hurt  you.     And  shall 


THE    CHALLONERS  325 

I  ever  play  like  that  again?  I  never  played  like  it 
before!" 

Karl  looked  at  him  a  moment  without  speaking. 
Then  he  raised  the  boy's  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed 
them. 

"  I  mean  that,"  he  said.  "  Ah,  Martin,  how  I  mean 
that !" 

Martin  stood  quite  still.  Had  such  a  thing  ever  sug- 
gested itself  as  possible  to  him  he  would  have  felt 
ready  to  sink  into  the  earth  with  sheer  embarrassment. 
But  now,  when  the  unimagined,  the  impossible  had 
happened,  he  felt  no  embarrassment  at  all. 

"  You  did  it  all,"  he  said,  simply.  "  Thank  you  a 
hundred  thousand  times." 

Then  the  pendulum  swung  back  again,  and  he  was 
a  boy  himself,  and  boyishly  delighted  with  success. 

"  Oh,  I  enjoyed  it  all  so,"  he  said.  "  After  that  first 
terrible  minute,  I  just  revelled  in  it.  Can't  I  give  an- 
other concert  this  evening?" 

Here  Lady  Sunningdale  broke  in, — 

"  You  not  only  can,  but  you  must,  after  dinner,"  she 
said.  "  Martin,  you  played  really  nicely  to-day.  I  am 
going  to  begin  to  practise  to-morrow  morning.  Scales. 
No,  not  to-morrow  morning,  because  I  shall  be  other- 
wise engaged  on  the  English  Channel.  Why  can't  they 
run  a  large  steam-roller  over  the  sea  between  Dover 
and  Calais?  Nobody  can  tell  me.  However,  I'm  told 
it  is  rather  healthy  than  otherwise.  My  dear,  red 
velvet  sofas,  tin  basins,  Stella,  and  I.  Also  Suez 
Canal.  Sahara  is  not  yet  in  a  fit  state.  It  is  too 
terrible.  Eight  o'clock  to-night,  Martin.  And  I  shall 
never  forgive  you  for  this  afternoon.  You  gave  me  the 
worst  five  minutes  I  ever  had." 


326  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  I  tried  to  make  up  for  it,"  said  he. 

Lady  Sunningdale  turned  quickly  back  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  I  adored  you,"  she  said.  "  And  next  time  I  shall 
wear  large  eights.  Perhaps  they  will  not  burst  quite 
so  soon." 

Martin  turned  a  thirsty  eye  on  Karl  when  she  had 
gone. 

"  And  can  I  have  my  whiskey-and-soda  now  ?"  he 
asked.     "  I  want  it  frightfully." 

Then  quite  suddenly  his  face  changed,  as  if  a  lamp 
had  been  put  out.     He  looked  tired,  worn  out. 

"  And  I  have  such  a  headache,"  he  said.  "  I  think 
I  have  had  it  two  days,  but  was  too  excited  to  think 
about  it.  It  went  away  altogether  when  I  was  playing. 
But  it  has  come  back  in  force !" 

Karl  rang  the  bell. 

"  Yes ;  you  want  a  good  rest,"  he  said ;  "  you  are 
tired  without  knowing  it ;  you  have  been  living  on 
your  nerves  the  last  day  or  two.  But  anything  worth 
doing  is  worth  being  tired  over.  Dear  boy,  I  hope 
your  headache  is  not  really  bad.  Anyhow,  you  have 
done  the  thing  worth  doing.  Don't  go  out  to-night. 
Go  back  home,  and  go  to  bed  early." 

Martin  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

"  Ah,  I  won't  give  up  nn  hour  of  to-day  for  fifty 
headaches,"  he  said.  "  Besides,  Stella  and  Lady  Sun- 
ningdale leave  to-morrow.  My  father  was  not  at  the 
concert,  I  suppose?" 

"  No;  not  that  I  know  of." 

"  I  sent  him  a  ticket,  although  I  thought  he  would 
not  come.  He  does  not  even  approve  of  my  wasting 
my  time  at  the  piano,"  he  added,  with  an  irritability  to 


THE    CHALLONERS  327 

which  this  horrible  stabbing  pain  in  his  head  con- 
tributed. 

He  drank  his  whiskey-and-soda  with  feverish  thirst. 

"  And  I  had  better  have  left  that  unsaid,"  he  re- 
marked. "  Now  I  shall  go  home,  I  think,  and  sleep 
off  my  headache  before  dinner.  But  I  must  just  look 
at  the  platform  once  more." 

He  ran  up  the  steps,  and  looked  round  the  empty 
hall.  The  lights  were  being  extinguished,  and  gang- 
way carpets  being  rolled  up.  The  Steinway  Grand 
still  stood  there,  and  he  felt  somehow  as  if  he  were 
saying  good-bye  to  it. 

"  Well,  that  is  done,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Lady  Sunningdale  and  Stella  left  London  for  the 
Riviera  next  morning,  and  later  in  the  day  Martin 
went  down  to  his  uncle's  at  Chartries,  and  Helen  back 
home  to  the  vicarage.  The  reaction  from  the  excite- 
ment of  the  last  few  days  had  left  him,  naturally 
enough,  rather  indolent  and  tired,  and  also,  naturally 
enough,  rather  irritable  and  disposed — not  to  put  too 
fine  a  point  on  it — to  be  cross.  He  found  the  railway 
carriage  insufferably  hot,  and  pulled  down  a  window ; 
that,  however,  made  it  draughty,  and  he  changed  his 
seat,  and  sat  with  his  back  to  the  engine.  This 
was  no  good,  because  for  some  unexplained  reason 
it  made  him  feel  ill,  and  changing  back  once  more, 
he  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep  that  lasted  till  they  got  to 
their  station.  Even  then  the  stopping  of  the  train  did 
not  arouse  him,  and  Helen  had  to  shake  and  poke  him 
into  consciousness,  for  which  kind  office  she  got 
growled  at. 

But  he  had  come  to  Chartries  with  the  definite  object 


328  THE    CHALLONERS 

of  seeing  his  father,  and  while  Helen's  luggage  was 
being  put  into  the  pony-cart  from  the  vicarage  the 
two  talked  this  over. 

"  It's  no  use  putting  it  off,"  he  said,  "  so  will  you 
tell  father  that  unless  I  hear  from  him  to  stop  me,  I 
will  come  over  to-morrow  afternoon  to  see  him.  And 
I  hope,"  he  added,  with  his  usual  candour,  "  that  my 
temper  will  be  a  little  improved  by  then.  Lord,  how 
cross  I  feel!  And  this  time  yesterday  I  was  in  the 
middle  of  it  all." 

Helen  looked  at  him  a  moment  rather  anxiously. 

"You're  all  right,  aren't  you,  Martin?"  she  said; 
"not  ill?" 

"  111?  No.  But  I'm  all  on  edge  and  I've  got  two 
headaches.  It's  rather  cold  waiting  here.  I  think  I'll 
walk  on  and  let  the  carriage  catch  me  up.  Good-bye, 
Helen;    see  you  to-morrow." 

Martin  woke  next  morning,  after  long,  heavy  sleep, 
with  the  same  sense  of  lassitude  and  tiredness  which 
had  oppressed  him  all  the  day  before  and  the  same 
headache  lying  like  a  hot  metallic  lump  inside  his  head, 
pressing  the  back  of  his  eyes.  The  man  who  called 
him  had  brought  him  a  couple  of  letters  and  a  note 
from  his  father,  which  had  been  sent  over  from  the 
vicarage.     He  opened  this  first. 

"  My  Dear  Martin, — Helen  has  given  me  your  message,  that 
you  wish  to  see  me.  I  have  thought  about  it  very  carefully,  and 
I  w^ish  to  tell  you  quite  candidly  the  conclusion  I  have  come  to. 

"  You  know  what  I  felt  about  your  going  over  to  the  Roman 
Church;  I  feel  that  all  still,  and  as  strongly  as  ever.  You  have 
deliberately  left  your  own  church,  and  for  reasons,  as  far  as  I 
can  understand,  which  are  frivolous  and  unessential.  And  I  am 
afraid — I  know  in  fact — that  if  I  saw  you  I  should,  without  being 


THE    CHALLONERS  329 

able  to  help  myself,  express  to  you  what  I  feel.  Now,  I  do  not 
think  this  would  do  any  good,  it  would  only  widen  the  gulf  be- 
tween us;  and  one  of  the  great  aims  of  my  life  now  is  to  do  the 
opposite.  I  do  not  suppose  my  opinion  will  ever  change,  it  cannot, 
in  fact,  but  in  time  I  shall,  I  suppose,  get  more  used  to  what  has 
happened,  and  shall  be  able  to  see  you  without  bitterness.  At 
present  I  am  unwilling  to  tear  open  a  wound  which  may  be  be- 
ginning to  heal.  But  all  this  is  to  me  still  so  keen  a  daily  and 
hourly  pain  that  I  feel  sure  we  should  be  wiser  not  to  meet  yet. 
But  Hele-,  of  course,  is  quite  free  to  come  and  see  you,  and  you 
to  come  and  see  her. 

"  It  gives  me  great  pain  to  write  this.  But  I  cannot  separate 
you  from  what  you  have  done. 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  from  her  of  the  great  success  of  your 
concert.  Personally,  as  you  know,  I  have  no  educated  taste  in 
music,  but  I  gather  that  your  master  is  satisfied  both  with  your 
progress  and  your  industry,  which  is  more  important  than  success. 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  wish  I  could  see  you ;    I  wish  I  could  trust 

myself ! 

"  Your  affectionate   father, 

"  Sidney  Challoner. 

"  P.S. — Your  Aunt  Clara,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  in  bed  witt  a 

sharp  attack  of  influenza." 

Martin  read  this  through  twice  before  he  got  up; 
then  he  dressed,  his  cold  bath  making  him  shiver,  and 
went  downstairs.  The  sight  of  his  own  face  in  the 
looking-glass,  as  he  brushed  his  hair,  was  somehow 
rather  a  shock  to  him;  it  did  not  look  exactly  ill,  but 
it  was  unfamiliar,  it  looked  like  the  face  of  somebody 
else.  His  uncle  was  not  yet  down,  and  he  strolled 
out  on  to  the  terrace,  waiting  for  him,  into  the  warm, 
windy  sunshine  of  the  April  morning.  But  here  again 
he  had  the  same  impression  of  unfamiliarity :  the  sun 
did  not  feel  to  him  the  same,  nor  did  the  sunshine  look 
the  same, — both  light  and  colour  had  an  odd  dream-like 
unreality  about  them.    It  was  as  if  some  curious,  hard 


330  THE    CHALLONERS 

barrier  had  been  put  up  between  his  sense  of  percep- 
tion and  that  which  he  perceived.  Then,  with  a  feeHng 
of  rehef,  he  remembered  his  father's  postscript.  Prob- 
ably he  had  influenza,  too. 

That  explanation,  or  the  divine  freshness  of  the 
morning,  made  him  feel  rather  better,  and  half-laugh- 
ing at  himself  for  his  vague  fear  that  there  was  some- 
thing really  wrong  with  him,  he  went  indoors  again. 
People  were  coming  to  stay  at  Chartries  that  afternoon, 
but  this  morning  he  and  his  uncle  were  alone.  Lord 
Flintshire  was  already  seated  at  breakfast  when  he 
came  in. 

He  gave  him  his  father's  letter  to  read,  unconscious 
that  his  uncle  looked  rather  closely  at  him  as  he  en- 
tered, being  also  struck  by  a  curious  drawn  look  in 
his  face,  but  he  said  nothing  on  the  subject,  and  read 
the  letter  through. 

"  I  think  your  father  is  wrong  about  it,"  he  said, 
"  and  if  you  approve,  I  will  tell  him  so.  There  is 
surely  no  need  to  enter  into  theological  discussion. 
You  want  just  to  see  him  and  shake  hands  with  him." 

Martin  had  taken  some  fish,  but  gave  it  up  as  a  bad 
job,  and  drank  tea  instead. 

"  Yes,  just  that,"  he  said.  "  I  hate  being  on  bad 
terms  with  anybody,  especially  him." 

Lord  Flintshire  looked  at  him  again. 

"  The  boy's  ill,"  he  said  to  himself.  Then  aloud, — 
"  Well,  let  us  walk  over  after  breakfast,  if  you  feel 
inclined.  You  can  see  Helen  while  I  go  in  and  talk 
to  your  father.  You  don't  look  particularly  fit  this 
morning,  Martin.     Anything  wrong?" 

"  I  feel  beastly,"  said  Martin,  with  directness.  "  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  I  had  got  influenza,  too." 


THE    CHALLONERS  331 

"  Are  you  sure  you  feel  up  to  coming  over  ?  Yes, 
your  father  mentions  that  Clara  has  got  it.  If  the 
doctor  is  there,  he  might  just  have  a  look  at  you.  Or, 
if  3'ou  don't  feel  up  to  coming,  I  would  send  him 
back  here." 

Martin  pulled  himself  together.  The  tea  had  made 
him  feel  quite  distinctly  better. 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  quite  up  to  it,"  he  said.  "  Probably 
the  doctor  will  tell  me  to  go  for  a  long  walk  and  eat  a 
big  dinner.  And  I  should  like  to  see  my  father  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  get  it  over.  It  will  all  be  easier 
after  that." 

His  uncle  got  up. 

''  Shall  we  start  in  half  an  hour,  then?  We  shall 
be  sure  to  catch  him  before  he  goes  out.     Cigarette?" 

"  No,  I  think  not,  thanks,"  said  Martin. 

Their  way  lay  down  through  the  woods  where  Helen 
and  Frank  had  met  a  month  ago,  and  the  gracious  in- 
fluence of  springtime  had  gone  steadily  forward  with 
the  great  yearly  miracle  of  the  renewal  of  life.  The 
green  that  had  then  hung  mist-like  round  the  trees  was 
now  formed  and  definite  leaf,  exquisitely  tender  and 
clear,  and  in  this  early  morning  hour  shining  with  the 
moisture  and  dews  of  night.  Daffodils  still  lingered  in 
sheltered  places  and  the  delicate  wood-anemone  flushed 
faintly  in  the  thickets.  Below  the  chalk-stream,  where 
Martin  last  summer  had  spent  that  hour  of  self-revela- 
tion, was  brimful  from  bank  to  bank  of  hurrying  trans- 
lucent water,  which  combed  the  subaqueous  weeds 
and  turned  to  topazes  the  yellow  pebbles  and  into  heaps 
of  pearl  the  beds  of  chalk  that  flashed  beneath  the 
water.      But   this   morning   he   was   heavy-eyed   and 


332  THE    CHALLONERS 

clogged  of  brain;  he  felt  that  somebody  else  was  see- 
ing these  things,  that  somebody  else  was  putting  foot 
in  front  of  foot,  while  he  himself  had  dwindled  to  a 
mere  pin-point  set  in  the  centre  of  a  great  lump  of 
hot  metal  which  filled  his  head.  Sometimes  this  body 
that  was  once  his  felt  sudden  flushes  of  heat,  some- 
times it  shivered  for  no  reason.  Then,  after  an  in- 
terminable walk,  so  it  seemed  to  him,  they  turned 
through  the  church-yard  and  went  up  the  gravel  path 
that  ran  to  join  the  carriage  sweep  in  front  of  the 
vicarage  door.  And,  in  spite  of  all,  it  was  with  a 
wonderful  sense  of  coming  home  that  Martin  saw  the 
gre)^  creeper-covered  walls  again,  the  long  box-hedge, 
and  the  croquet-lawn  wet  and  shining  with  dew  in 
the  sun. 

"  I'll  wait  out  here  while  you  see  my  father,"  said 
he.  "  Perhaps  you  would  tell  Helen  I  am  here."  And 
he  sat  down  all  of  a  heap  on  a  garden  seat. 

This  tired,  spiritless  boy  was  so  utterly  unlike  Mar- 
tin that  his  uncle  felt  suddenly  anxious. 

"Are  you  feeling  bad,  Martin?"  he  asked.  "Do 
you  feel  faint?    Hadn't  you  better  come  indoors?" 

"  Oh,  no.  I  shall  be  better  when  I've  rested  a 
minute.  But  my  head  aches  so.  Lord,  it  gets  worse 
every  minute." 

Lord  Flintshire  left  him  and  went  straight  to  Mr. 
Challoner's  study,  where  he  was  at  work. 

"  Good-morning,  Sidney,"  he  said.  "  I  have  come 
over  with  Martin,  who  wants  to  see  you.  I  also  want 
you  to  see  him;  but  we  can  talk  of  that  afterwards. 
Now,  is  the  doctor  in  the  house?  Martin  is  not  at  all 
well.     He  looks  to  me  very  ill.     He " 

But  at  that  word  there  was  no  longer  any  thought 


THE    CHALLONERS  333 

of  "  talking  of  that  afterwards."  All  that  was  human 
and  tender,  all  that  was  loving,  all  that  there  was  of 
"  father"  in  Mr.  Challoner  sprang  to  that  call. 

"Dear  lad,  where  is  he?"  he  said.  "Yes;  the 
doctor  is  with  Clara  now.  He  will  be  out  in  a  minute. 
But  where  is  Martin?    I  must  go  to  him." 

Lord  Flintshire  just  laid  his  hand  on  his  brother's 
shoulder. 

"  I  knew  you  would,  Sidney,"  he  said.  "  He  is  out- 
side by  the  front  door." 

Martin  had  dropped  heavily  on  to  the  garden  seat, 
and  sat  there  with  his  eyes  closed.  That  lump  of  hot 
metal  in  his  head  had  grown  larger  and  hotter ;  he  felt 
as  if  something  must  burst.  And  he  was  so  terribly 
tired ;  his  walk  had  not  done  him  the  least  good.  Then 
he  heard  quick  steps  behind  him  on  the  gravel,  but 
simply  could  not  be  troubled  to  look  round.  And  then 
came  his  father's  voice. 

"  My  dearest  lad,"  he  said,  "  come  indoors  at  once." 

Martin  sat  up  with  a  jerk,  and  some  chord  of  old 
memory  twanged  on  the  surface  of  his  brain. 

"You're  not  angry  with  me,  father?"  he  said,  ner- 
vously. 

Mr.  Challoner  bit  his  lip  to  stifle  the  exclamation 
of  pain  that  rose  bitterly  within  him. 

"  Angry?"  he  said.  "  What  put  that  into  your  dear 
old  head?  There,  Martin,  take  my  arm,  and  lean  on 
me.  Come  inside  out  of  the  wind.  There,  old  boy, 
steadily ;  there's  plenty  of  time.  I  hope  we  shan't  have 
you  down  with  influenza,  too.  But  it's  the  luckiest 
thing  in  the  world.  The  doctor  is  here  now  with  your 
aunt,  and  he  shall  have  a  look  at  you." 

But  it  needed  all   Mr.   Challoncr's  courage  to  get 


334  THE    CHALLONEES 

through  with  this  cheerful  chattering.  Martin  looked 
terribly  ill  to  him.  But  he  got  him  into  his  study, 
arranged  the  cushions  on  the  sofa  he  so  seldom  used 
himself,  and  made  him  lie  down. 

"  Ah,  that's  better,"  said  Martin.  "  Thanks,  thanks 
ever  so  much,  father." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  his  father,  who  pressed  it, 
and  his  voice  trembled  a  little  as  he  answered. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  lad,  for  wanting  to  come 
and  see  me,"  he  said.  "  Now,  is  there  anything  you 
want?  I  shall  send  Dr.  Thaxter  to  you  as  soon  as  he 
leaves  your  aunt." 

Dr.  Thaxter  was  a  merry,  rosy-faced  little  man 
with  a  manner  so  reassuring  that  one  felt  quite  well 
directly,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  came  bustling  into 
the  room. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Challoner,"  he  said,  "  your  father  tells 
me  you  are  a  bit  knocked  up.  Not  uncommon  in  this 
spring  weather.  Quite  right  to  lie  down.  There,  put 
that  under  your  tongue,  and  don't  bite  it." 

He  adjusted  the  thermometer  and  went  chattering 
on. 

"  And  you've  walked  over  from  Chartries  with  your 
uncle,  have  you?  Fine  place  that,  and  a  fine  healthy 
situation.  Of  course,  you  only  came  down  yesterday. 
I  saw  the  account  of  your  concert  in  the  paper.  Ah, 
I  wish  I  had  been  there.  Now,  I  think  we've  given 
the  thermometer  long  enough.     Thank  you.     And  you 

feel  rather " 

The  little  doctor  stopped  suddenly  in  the  middle  of 
his  sentence  when  he  saw  what  was  recorded  on  it. 
"  You  have  a  headache,  I  think  your  father  said." 
"  I  have  nothing  else,  I  think,"  said  Martin. 


THE    CHALLONERS  335 

Dr.  Thaxter  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  sofa,  and 
sat  down,  looking  at  him  very  closely. 

"  Ah,  yes;  that  is  to  be  expected  with  a  little  fever. 
You  are  rather  feverish.  Now,  when  did  you  begin  to 
feel  ill?  When  did  you  first  feel  a  headache?  Try 
to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Oh,  five  days  ago  now.  No,  six,  I  think.  I  don't 
think  I  felt  anything  else,  except  that  everything 
seemed  rather  queer  all  the  time." 

He  made  a  movement  to  sit  up,  but  the  doctor  gently 
pressed  him  back  again. 

"  Better  not  sit  up,"  he  said.  "  You'll  be  far  more 
comfortable  lying  down.  And  you  can  tell  me  nothing 
else?    Just  a  bad  headache." 

"Am  I  ill?"  asked  Martin,  suddenly.  "Really  ill, 
I  mean?    What's  the  matter  with  me?" 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Challoner,  I  can't  possibly  tell  you, 
because  I  don't  know.  And  when  one  doesn't  know, 
one  takes  precautions  against  anything  that  it  may  con- 
ceivably be.  Perhaps  it  is  influenza.  If  it  is,  it's  a 
pretty  sharp  attack.  I  wonder  at  your  being  able  to 
walk  over  this  morning.  Now,  will  you  promise  me 
to  lie  quite  still  while  I  just  go  and  talk  to  your 
father  and  settle  with  him  what  we  shall  do  with  you." 

The  little  doctor  went  quietly  out  of  the  room  and 
across  the  hall  to  the  drawing-room.  Helen,  her 
father,  and  Lord  Flintshire  were  all  there.  He  did 
not  look  quite  so  brisk  and  cheerful  as  he  had  done 
before  he  saw  Martin. 

"  He  has  a  very  high  temperature,"  he  said ;  "  much 
higher  than  I  like.  Tt  may,  of  course,  be  an  attack  of 
influenza.  I  have  seen  cases  of  it  with  temperatures 
higher  than  that.     But  he  must  be  nursed  as  if  some- 


336  THE    CHALLONERS 

thing  more  serious  was  the  matter.  He  has  probably 
had  a  temperature  for  nearly  a  week." 

Mr.  Challoner  turned  to  him  almost  fiercely. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said. 

"  It  may  be  several  things.  Perhaps  I  can  tell  you 
when  I  have  seen  him  again,  when  we  have  got  him 
to  bed.  Now,  there  is  a  good  spare-room  in  this 
house?" 

"Yes;    his  own,"  said  Helen. 

"  Very  well;  he  must  be  moved  there,  just  as  he  is, 
without  getting  up.  If  you  and  Lord  Flintshire  will 
help  me,  we  will  do  it  at  once.  And  is  there  a  room 
where  a  nurse  can  sleep?" 

Helen  took  a  step  nearer  him. 

"  Is  it  typhoid?"  she  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  may  be.    It  looks  very  like  it." 


CHAPTER    XV 

It  was  very  early,  only  a  little  after  six,  and  the  sun 
had  risen  on  a  day  exquisite,  warm,  and  windless.  In 
Martin's  room  the  big  window  had  been  open  all 
night,  and  all  night  the  blind  had  not  once  rattled  or 
stirred,  while  the  lamp  on  the  table  near  it  burned 
steady  without  a  flicker.  But  though  it  had  been  light 
for  nearly  an  hour,  the  nurse  had  only  this  moment 
put  out  the  lamp,  for  she  had  been  alert,  quick,  and 
watchful,  unable  to  leave  his  bedside  for  a  moment  for 
the  last  four  hours. 

He  had  been  very  restless,  attempting  again  and 
again  to  sit  up  in  bed,  and  it  had  needed  not  only  all 
her  care  but  all  her  strength  to  keep  him  lying  down. 
All  night  long,  too,  that  terrible  uncontrollable  twitch- 
ing of  the  muscles  of  leg  and  arm  had  gone  on  in- 
cessantly, and  again  and  again,  for  ten  minutes  or 
more  at  a  stretch,  she  had  kept  one  arm  with  steady 
pressure  over  those  poor,  jumping  knees,  while  she 
held  the  other  ready  to  prevent  his  getting  up.  It  had 
been  all  she  could  do,  in  fact,  to  manage  him  alone, 
but  she  had  been  unwilling,  except  at  the  last  extremity, 
to  rouse  Nurse  James  from  the  next  room,  for  she 
had  had  a  terribly  tiring  day  yesterday  with  him. 
Yesterday,  too,  a  second  doctor  had  come  down  from 
London.  The  case  was  extremely  grave,  but  all  that 
could  be  done  was  being  done. 

Martin  was  lying  rather  more  quiet  just  now,  and 
Nurse  Baker  had  moved  from  the  bed  to  put  out  the 

22  337 


338  THE    CHALLONERS 

lamp  and  draw  the  blind  up  a  little.  His  eyes  were 
wide  open,  staring  at  the  ceiling,  and  he  was  talking  in 
a  high,  meaningless  drone. 

"  No,  Karl,  I  can't  do  it,"  he  was  saying.  "  I  don't 
see  it  like  that.  I  know  I  shall  break  down,  because  I 
haven't  the  slightest  idea  of  how  it  begins,  and  I  can't 
leave  out  the  beginning.  And  father  is  angry  with 
me,  and  when  he  is  angry  he  frightens  me.  Hasn't 
Stella  come  to  see  me?  I  had  such  a  headache,  you 
know;  like  a  great  piece  of  hot  iron,  you  know,  right 
inside  my  head.  They  took  off  the  top  of  my  head 
to  put  it  there.  I'm  frightened  of  him  when  he's  like 
that.  Where's  Stella  ?  No ;  Lady  Sunningdale  was  in 
the  bird  of  para — para — parachute — I  don't  know,  in 
that  hat  anyhow,  you  fool  with  Sahara.  That's  what 
made  it  so  hot,  and  I  can't  endure  English  chants.  Oh, 
father,  don't,  don't.     It  isn't  my  fault." 

His  voice  rose  to  a  scream,  and  the  nurse  came 
quickly  back  to  the  bedside,  just  in  time  to  prevent 
him  rising. 

The  door  opened  gently,  and  Helen  came  in  in  her 
dressing-gown.     And  the  terrible  drone  began  again. 

"  And  when  we're  married,  Helen  and  Frank  shall 
come  and  stay  with  us,  and  I'll  play  to  them,  if  it  gets 
cooler.  But  father  mustn't  know ;  he  mustn't  come. 
Karl  is  the  loud  pedal  you  see,  and  the  music-stool, 
and  I'm  only  the  black  notes.  I  hope  they  won't  play 
me  much,  as  I'm  all  out  of  tune  with  the  iron.  And 
all  those  faces  are  there,  a  sea  of  them,  and  I'm  all 
alone.     If  I  break  down  father  will  be  angry!" 

He  turned  his  head  sideways  on  the  pillow,  closed 
his  eyes,  and  was  silent  for  a  little.  Helen,  with 
quivering  lip,  was  looking  at  that  dear  face,  so  thin 


THE    CHALLONERS  339 

and  hollow,  so  untidy  and  unshaven,  with  unspeak- 
able love  and  longing.  Then  the  nurse  left  the  bed 
and  came  to  her.     Helen  did  not  ask  if  he  was  better. 

"  Can  I  help  you  in  anything?"  she  said. 

"  No,  dear  Miss  Helen,  thank  you.  I  think  he  will 
be  quieter  for  a  little  now.  But  I  should  like  Dr. 
Thaxter  to  be  sent  for  at  once,  please.  Yes,  he  is 
very  ill.  He  is  as  ill  as  he  can  be.  There,  there,  my 
dear!" 

Helen  clasped  her  hands  together  a  moment,  holding 
them  out  towards  Martin  with  a  dumb,  beseeching  ges- 
ture, as  if  imploring  him. 

"  And  I  am  so  strong,"  she  said.  "  Why  can't  I 
give  him  some  of  my  strength !     It  is  cruel." 

"  Ah,  if  one  only  could  do  that,"  said  Nurse 
Baker.  "But  he  is  not  suffering;  he  is  quite  un- 
conscious." 

"  May  my  father  come  in  to  see  him  a  moment?" 
asked  the  girl. 

"  No ;  much  better  not.  He  does  not  know  what 
he  is  saying,  but  he  keeps  on  saying  what  you  have 
heard.  Now,  will  you  send  somebody  for  the  doctor? 
There  are  certain  things  I  don't  like  about  his  looks. 
And  then  come  back,  dear,  if  you  like.  He  never 
says  a  word  his  sister  should  not  hear." 

Helen  advanced  to  the  side  of  the  bed  a  moment, 
and  just  touched  Martin's  hand,  which  lay  outside  the 
bedclothes.  She  could  not  speak,  but  just  nodded  to 
the  nurse  and  went  away. 

She  sent  word  to  the  stables  that  the  cart  was  to  go 
at  once  to  fetch  Dr.  Thaxter,  and  then  went  to  her 
father's  study,  where  he  was  waiting  for  her. 

He  was  kneeling  by  his  table,  as  he  had  knelt  for 


340  THE    CHALLONERS 

the  last  half -hour,  but  rose  when  she  entered,  and 
they  stood  together,  hands  clasped,  a  moment. 

"  No,  dear  father,  he  is  no  better,"  she  said.  "  He 
— he  is  very  ill,  indeed.  And  Nurse  Baker  thinks  you 
had  better  not  go  in." 

Mr.  Challoner  looked  at  her  with  that  dreadful  dry- 
eyed  despair  that  she  had  seen  on  his  face  so  often 
during  this  last  week. 

"  Does  he  still  talk  about  me?"  he  asked. 

Helen  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"Yes,  father,"  she  said;  "but  he  does  not  know 
what  he  is  saying.  Indeed,  he  does  not.  He  talks 
all  sorts  of  nonsense.     He  has  no  idea  what  he  says." 

"  Ah,  Helen,  that  is  just  it,"  he  moaned.  "  The 
poor  lad  speaks  instinctively;  he  says  what  has  be- 
come a  habit  of  thought.     Oh,  my  God,  my  God !" 

Helen  knew  her  impotence  to  help  him. 

"  I  have  sent  for  Dr.  Thaxter,"  she  said.  "  Nurse 
Baker  wanted  him  to  come  at  once.  And,  father,  there 
is  another  thing,  which  I  have  only  just  thought  of. 
If  Dr.  Thaxter  thinks — if  he  thinks  that,  we  ought  to 
send  for  a  Roman  priest." 

Mr.  Challoner's  face  changed  suddenly. 

"No,"  he  said,  in  a  harsh  whisper;  "no  Roman 
priest  shall  enter  the  house." 

"  Ah,  but  he  must,  he  must,"  said  Helen.  "  Think 
a  moment.  If  Martin  was  conscious,  you  know  he 
would  wish  it,  and  you  would  send  for  one." 

Mr.  Challoner  did  not  reply  for  a  moment ;  then  he 
lifted  his  hands  with  a  helpless  gesture. 

"  And  it  is  Easter  morning,"  he  said. 

Somehow  that  cut  at  the  girl's  heart  more  than  any- 
thing. 


THE    CHALLONERS  341 

"  Yes,  dear  father,"  she  said  at  length ;  "  and  is  not 
that — whatever  happens — enough  for  us  all?  Who- 
ever we  are,  Frank,  Martin,  you,  I,  that  is  where  we 
meet." 

Then  for  the  first  time  since  that  day,  now  nearly  a 
fortnight  ago,  when  Martin  had  sat  down  dead  tired 
on  the  seat  by  the  front  door,  the  blessed  relief  of  tears 
came  to  his  father,  and  he  wept  long,  silently,  a  man's 
hard,  painful  tears.  And  with  those  tears  the  upright 
hardness  of  him,  the  God-fearing,  God-loving  narrow- 
ness went  from  him.  The  bitter  frosts  of  his  nature 
melted,  they  were  dissolved. 

"  Oh,  Helen,  if  he  lives,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  Ah,  yes,  dear  father,  or  if  he  dies.  Even  if  he 
dies,  dear." 

She  took  his  hands,  holding  them  tightly. 

"  Oh,  help  me  to  remember  that,"  she  whispered;  "  I 
shall  need  all  the  help  you  can  give  me.  We  shall  want 
— we  shall  want  all  the  help  we  can  get — both  of  us. 
We  will  give  it  each  other.     And  Stella " 

"  You  telegraphed  to  her?" 

"  Yes;   she  cannot  get  here  till  to-morrow!" 

Then  the  girl  gave  way. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  said ;  "  and  it  is  only  just  to-day. 
Father,  father,  I  can't  bear  it.     I  can't." 

But  the  strength  she  had  given  him  so  often  during 
this  last  week  was  ready  again  to  help  her. 

"  Yes,  dear  Helen,"  he  said,  speaking  quite  calmly 
again.  "  We  can  both  bear  whatever  is  to  be.  God 
does  not  send  us  anything  that  we  are  not  capable  of 
bearing,  and  of  bearing  without  liitterness  and  with- 
out complaint.  And  whether  it  is  life  or  death  with 
our  dear  Martin,  it  is  all  life.    We  believe  that,  do  we 


342  THE    CHALLONEKS 

not  ?  Let  us  hold  on  to  that,  for  it  sustains  the  sorrows 
of  all  the  world.  There  is  nothing  so  sure  as  that.  It 
is  the  Rock  of  Ages,  Helen." 

There  was  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  gravel  outside. 

"  That  will  be  the  doctor,  dear,"  said  he;  "  will  you 
go  and  meet  him,  and — and  the  cart  must  wait  if  he 
thinks  a  priest  should  be  sent  for." 

She  got  up  at  once. 

"  Yes,  father,"  she  said. 

Helen  went  out  into  the  hall.  Dr.  Thaxter  had  just 
come  in,  and  at  the  same  moment  Nurse  Baker  hurried 
downstairs. 

"  Come  up  at  once,  please,  doctor,"  she  said.  "  He 
— he  came  to  himself  a  few  minutes  ago,  after  being 
delirious  all  night.  I  took  his  temperature.  It  is  nor- 
mal, just  about  normal." 

Helen's  face  suddenly  brightened. 

"  He  is  better,  then?"  she  said. 

Nurse  Baker  turned  to  her,  as  the  doctor  took  off 
his  coat,  with  infinite  compassion  in  her  kind,  brown 
eyes. 

"  No,  dear  Miss  Helen,"  she  said.  "  He  is — ah,  I 
need  not  explain  to  you.  But  it  is  very  bad.  It  is — 
you  must  be  very  brave,  my  dear.    Go  to  your  father." 

She  gave  her  a  quick  little  kiss,  and  followed  the 
doctor  upstairs.    Helen  went  back  into  the  study. 

"  Something  has  happened,"  she  said.  "  I  had  no 
time  to  speak  to  Dr.  Thaxter.  They  will  send  for  us, 
dear.     I  think — I  think  that  is  what  nurse  meant." 

It  was  now  about  seven  of  the  morning,  and  the 
sun  about  an  hour  above  the  horizon  streamed  glori- 
ously into  the  room.     It  shone  on  the  table,  the  sofa, 


THE    CHALLONERS  343 

on  the  big  chair  where  Helen  and  Martin  as  little 
children  used  to  sit  together,  looking  at  Bible  pictures. 
And  she  sat  down  in  that  chair  now.  The  big  things 
had  been  said  between  her  father  and  her,  and  as  they 
waited  now  both  turned  to  little  memories  of  the  past. 

"  Martin  used  to  sit  by  me,"  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  and  then  you  grew  too  big.  After  that  you 
used  each  to  have  a  chair,  one  on  each  side  of  me." 

"  And  we  did  our  lessons  there,"  said  Helen.  Then 
she  stopped  suddenly,  for  there  was  a  foot  on  the  stairs. 

Nurse  Baker  came  in. 

"  You  must  both  come,"  she  said. 

The  blind  was  drawn  up  in  Martin's  room,  and  the 
same  wonderful  sun  flooded  the  room,  and  outside 
many  thrushes  were  singing.  There  was  but  little  ap- 
paratus of  medicine  there, — it  was  just  a  boy's  clean 
room :  cricket  bats  and  racquets  stood  in  one  corner, 
on  the  table  there  was  a  heap  of  music,  school-books 
were  in  the  bookcase  by  the  door.  And  on  the  bed 
lay  Martin.  His  eyes  were  still  open,  but  they  were 
blind  and  unseeing  no  more,  and  he  turned  them 
wearily  to  the  door  when  Helen  and  his  father  entered. 
But  when  he  saw  them,  they  brightened  a  little.  The 
doctor  had  stood  back  from  the  bed.  Nurse  Baker  was 
by  him.     Then  Martin  spoke. 

"  It  is  nice  to  be  in  my  own  room  again,"  he  said  in 
a  voice  just  audible.  "  Oh,  good-morning,  Helen ; 
good-morning,  father.  I  have  had  horrible  dreams, 
father.  I  dreamed  you  were  angry  with  me.  How 
silly.     You  are  not  angry?" 

Mr.  Challoner  came  up  to  the  bed,  and  knelt  there, 
his  arm  resting  on  the  blanket. 


344  THE    CHALLONERS 

"  No,  dear  lad,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not;  indeed,  I  am 
not." 

Martin  shifted  his  position  a  httle. 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  said,  "  because  I'm  so  tired.  Helen, 
I  played  well,  really  well,  did  I?" 

"  Yes,  Martin ;  Karl  Rusoff  said — he  said  nobody 
ever  played  better." 

And  she  was  silent  because  she  could  not  say  any 
more  just  then. 

"And  what  is  to-day?"  asked  Martin  at  length. 

"  It  is  Easter  Sunday,  dear  Martin,"  said  his 
father. 

Martin  half  raised  his  head. 

"  I  ought  to  be  at  Mass,"  he  said,  "  but  I  can't.  It 
doesn't  matter,  does  it,  if  one  can't?" 

His  father  came  a  little  closer  yet. 

"  No,  dear  boy,"  he  said.  "  It  is  Mass  everywhere 
this  morning.  He  was  crucified,  and  this  morning  He 
rose  again.  That  is  all  the  world  holds,  and  the  heaven 
of  heavens." 

"  Yes,  all,"  said  the  boy.     "  And  to-day " 

The  whisper  in  which  he  had  spoken  died,  and  Dr. 
Thaxter  took  a  step  towards  the  bed,  looked  at  him 
a  moment,  and  then  went  back  again. 

For  a  minute  or  two  Martin  lay  there  quite  still ; 
then  he  put  out  his  two  hands  on  each  side  of  the 
bed,  one  towards  Helen,  one  to  his  father. 

"  I  am  awfully  tired,"  he  said,  "  and  I  can't  talk. 
But  I  can  listen  still.     Is  Stella  here?" 

"  No,  Martin,"  said  Helen ;  "  but  she  is  coming  as 
quickly  as  she  can." 

"  Ah !  Father,  say  something,  something  that  you 
and  I  both  know  and  Hke." 


THE    CHALLONERS  345 

Mr.  Challoner  gently  kissed  the  boy's  hand;  then 
he  raised  his  head  and  spoke. 

"  The  King  of  Love  my  Shepherd  is, 
Whose  Goodness  faileth  never ; 
I  nothing  lack  if  I  am  His, 
And  He  is  mine  for  ever." 

Helen  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  and  as  her 
father's  voice  faltered  and  stopped,  she  looked  up. 

"Shall  father  and  I  say  it  together,  Martin?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  together,"  said  he. 

So  sometimes  one,  sometimes  the  other,  sometimes 
both  repeated  the  beautiful  words.  But  just  before 
the  last  verse  Martin  raised  his  head  a  little,  looking 
straight  in  front  of  him.     Then  his  father  began : 

"  And  so  through  all  the  length  of  days 
Thy  goodness  faileth  never " 

He  paused,  for  he  saw  that  look  in  dying  eyes,  those 
eyes  that  were  so  dear  to  him,  which  means  that  the 
great  event  is  there,  that  the  great,  white  presence  has 
entered.     Helen  had  seen,  too. 

Then  Martin  raised  himself  a  little  further  and 
spoke  no  longer  in  a  whisper, — 

"  Good  Shepherd,  may  I  sing  Thy  praise, 
Within  Thy  courts  for  ever." 

Then  he  sank  down  again,  withdrew  his  hand  from 
his  father's,  and  put  it  on  the  pillow.  Then  he  laid  his 
face  on  it,  as  was  his  custom,  and  fell  asleep. 


PIGS    IN    CLOVER 

BY  "FRANK  DANBY" 

8vo.     Decorated  cloth,  $1.50. 

"  By  far  the  most  powerful  and  searching 
piece  of  fiction  of  the  year." — The  Bookman. 

"  Has  a  vigor  like  that  Charles  Reade  used 
to  show." — Buffalo  Coimnei'-ciaL 

"A  powerful  society  and  political  romance 
which  is  still  more  powerful  as  a  novel  of 
character." — Bi^ooklyn  Eagle. 

"The  most  effective  realistic  novel  of  a 
decade." — Professor  Guy  Carleton  Lee. 

"The  book  is  written  with  insight,  sincerity 
of  purpose,  and  rugged  virility." — The  New 
York  Co77imercial  Advertiser . 

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stories  read  in  many  months." — Dr.  Harry 
Thurston  Peck. 

"A  novel  of  unusual  power,  brilliant,  and 
full  of  insiofht  into  character.  It  is  a  book 
to  read." — Detroit  Free  Press. 


J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY,    PHILADELPHIA 


THE  ISSUE 

By  GEORGE    MORGAN 

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"By  long  odds  the  most  striking  literary  event  of  the 
year." — Philadelp]iia  North  American. 

"  'The  Issue'  is  one  of  the  best  novels  of  its  period." 
— Baltimore  Sun. 

' '  Mr.  Morgan  has  lifted  the  battlefields  of  the  South 
from  their  provincial  setting  and  marked  them  on  the  great 
war  map  of  the  world." — JVew  York  Evening  Post. 

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of  vivid,  stirring  pictures.  Its  turns  and  phrases  are  sur- 
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New  York  Sun. 

"A  remarkably  clear,  just,  and  at  the  same  time  enter- 
taining pen-picture  of  the  most  momentous  period  in  Ameri- 
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can life  that  is  really  worth  while." — Philadelphia  Record. 

' '  Such  novels  as  '  The  Issue'  are  rare  upon  any  theme. 
.  .  .  Superior  to  '  The  Crisis'  ...  a  work  that  must  have 
cost  tremendous  toil,  a  masterpiece. " — Pittsburgh  Gazette. 

' '  Will  stand  prominently  forth  as  the  strongest  book  that 
the  season  has  given  us.  A  book  that  is  dramatic,  pictur- 
esque, and  is  yet  realistic. ' ' — Philadelphia  Ledger. 


J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,    PHILADELPHIA 


A   SEQUENCE    IN    HEARTS 

BY   MARY   MOSS. 

Atithor  of  ^^  Fruit  Out  of  Season,"  ^' Julian  Meldohla.^' 
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"  Miss  Moss  sees  life  as  a  sunny  comedy 
and  tells  of  it  with  cheerful  relish.  The 
characters  are  all  human.  The  story  is 
sparkling  with  vivacity  and  good  humor." 
— Pittsbiivo'  Commercial  Gazette. 

"  The  characters  are  well  drawn  and  there  is 
plenty  of  humor  and  a  great  deal  of  satire  fur- 
nished by  Cousin  Romola," — Worcester  Spy. 

"A  love  story  of  to-day  marked  by  un- 
usually clever  character  drawing  and  a  fund 
of  quiet  humor  and  sharp  satire." — Trento7i 
Times. 

"A  cleverly  written  and  thoroughly  inter- 
esting story  of  the  present  day." — Chicago 
Tribune. 

"The  book  is  full  of  vivid  touches,  showing 
a  shrewd  analysis  of  character,  a  fine  kind  of 
humor  as  an  underdrift,  and  a  cheerful  tone 
brightens  up  the  tragic  atmosphere." — Syra- 
cuse Herald. 

"  Decidedly  clever,  and  well  worth  reading." 
— N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 


J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,   PHILADELPHIA 


At  the  Time  Appointed 

By  A.  MAYNARD    BARBOUR 
Colored  Frontispiece  by  Marchand     -     -     Postpaid,  S1.5O 

The   Washington  Post. 

"A  good  mystery  that  stimulates  the  imagination  and 
excites  the  deepest  interest." 

Doylestown  Intelligencer. 

"  A  volume  that  once  started  will  be  read  through  to  the 
the  end.  It  has  thrills  galore,  unexpected  situations, 
mysteries  enough — in  fact,  it's  the  real  thing." 

St.  Paul  Dispatch. 

"A  study  in  character,  and  a  very  unusual,  original 
love  story." 

Pittsburg  Dispatch. 

"  A  stirring  and  dramatic  love  story." 

By  same  Author 

That  Mainwaring'  Affair 

Illustrated.     Postpaid.  gl.SO 

New  York  Life. 

"  Possibly  in  a  detective  story  the  main  object  is  to  thrill. 
If  so,  '  That  Mainwaring  Affair'  is  all  right.  The  thrill 
is  there,  full  measure,  pressed  down  and  running  over." 

New  York   Town   Topics. 

"  The  book  that  reminds  one  of  Anna  Katherine  Green 
in  her  palmiest  days.  .  .  .  Keeps  the  reader  on  the 
alert,  defies  the  efforts  of  those  who  read  backwards, 
deserves  the  applause  of  all  who  like  mystery." 

Denver  News. 

"The  reader  will  be  a  good  guesser,  indeed,  if  he  solves 
this  mystery  before  the  author  does  it  for  him.  A  pleas- 
ant love  interest  runs  through  the  pages." 


Publishers  :  J.  B.  Lippiivcott  Company  :  piiiudeiphia 


/ 


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Raymond. 

By  E.  L.  VOYNICH. 

i2nio.     Cloth,  $1.50;    paper,  50  cents. 

"  The  strongest  novel  that  the  present  season  has  proc  •' 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  London. 

"Wonderful  and  terrible;  wonderful  in  its  intellet?Q 
terrible  for  the  intensity  of  feeling  effects." — Boston  Cotir 

"One  of  the  uniquely  interesting  stories  of  the  -if<f 
World,  New  York. 


Sister 
Teres;^ 

By  GEORGE  MOORE 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50;    paper,  50 

"A  psychological  study  of  extraordinary 
fineness  of  George  Moore's  literary  methods."  — 

' '  Absorbing  to  the  end  as  a  narrative,  '  Si 
remarkable  exhibit  of  finished  thought  and  skil' 


J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY, 


T^^c  JNTILLED  FIELD 

^  "^      By  GEORGE   MOORE 

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Ge/ld  of  fiction   in   Great  Britain  to-day.      This  new   volume 
^^ /the  most  natural  as  well  as  some  of  the  most  intense  and 
c/iWe  of  its  author' s  work. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


k\^r-heel  baron 

novel  of  North  Carolina  life,  by 

^^SHIPPIE  CLARKE  PELTON 

\  ^y  has  to  do  with  a  gallant  and  brave  German 
•^      ovS  as  a  stranger  into  the  little  settlement.     It  is  a 
S^^      tii^he  same  time  a  love  story  which  deal"  with 
0°  d  conditions. 

\mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


sv^ 


OF    LIFE 

}k  THOMPSON 

\nd  society  life  of  to-day,  in  a 
^K.     plogical  vein. 

^o^*-^  ,g^^prise  and  appeal  with   singular 
9.^°         which  exists  in  all  of  us.     It  is 
\society  life. 
^$1.50. 

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